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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 













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UB. 


HUBB 


A STORY. 



EMMA C. CURRIER. 


“ Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife, 

Some pure ideal of a noble life, 

That once seemed possible ? Did we not hear 
The flutter of its wings, and feel it near. 

And just within our reach ? It was. And yet 
We lost it in this daily jar and fret, 

And now live idle in a vain regret. 

But still our place is kept, and it will wait. 

Ready for us to fill it, soon or late: 

No star is ever lost we once have seen, 

We always may be what we might have been.” 

Adelaide Proctor. 



NEW YOEK: 

THE AUTHORS’ PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

27 Bond Street. 

f 12^9-u) 

\ 


PZ3 

.Q.'^bTb // 


COPTEIGHT, 1880 , 

Bt Thb Authors’ Publishing Compant, 
New York. 


TO 

THE ONE EARNEST FRIEND, 

WHOSE NEVER-FAILING ENCOURAGEMENT AND HELP 
HAS NERVED ME TO THE ACCOMPLISHMENT OF THIS WORK, 

I Lovingly Dedicate this Book. 

TRUSTING THAT ITS RECORDS MAY FIND AN 
ANSWERING ECHO IN MANY A LIFE, AND AWAKEN AN 
EARNEST DESIRE FOR THAT WHICH 
IS HIGHER AND BETTER. 


\ 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

The Island home, . . . . . , .7 

CHAPTER II. 

The Father’s Secret, 18 

CHAPTER III. 

All Alone, 27 

CHAPTER IV. 

Edith’s New Home, 38 

CHAPTER V. 

Homeless, . . . . . . . . *54 

CHAPTER VI. 

Edith’s Girlhood, .... . . .68 

CHAPTER VII. 

Philip Burton, 79 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A Wretched Life, 96 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Shadow, 113 


6 

Every-day Life, 

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER X. 


. 127 

Helen Hammond, 

CHAPTER XI. 


. 142 

CHAPTER XII. 

What is Philip Burton to me ? . 


. 154 

\ 

New Friends, 

CHAPTER XIII. 



Various, 

CHAPTER XIV. 


. 179 

A Struggle, 

CHAPTER XV. 


. 191 

Simon Flint, 

CHAPTER XVI. 


. 206 

Gilded Clouds, 

CHAPTER XVII. 


. 215 

After, 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

• 

. 224 


HUBBUB. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE ISLAND HOME. 

THE hot tropical sun shone with all its blazing 
splendor, and a hush seemed to have fallen upon the 
great world of nature ; the flowers blossomed without 
even a breeze to diffuse their fragrance, while the tall 
Cocoa trees were motionless, and threw gaunt shadows 
on the hot and dusty street. 

Our story opens in one of the many little islands be- 
longing to the West Indies. The city was built on 
hills and very beautiful it was even in this glaring heat 
if one had been possessed of strength sufficient to ven- 
ture forth and admire the picturesque appearance it 
presented. The harbor was a lovely one, and flags of 
different nations floated from the various crafts lying at 
anchor there ; on either side, and, stretching away down 
as far as the eye could reach, were green hills, some 
lofty and some of smaller dimensions. On two of the 
most eminent of these stood two weird-looking old 
castles, erected so long ago that no one knew their 
origin. They were supposed, however, to have been 

7 


8 


HUBBUB. 


built by pirates who infested the high seas many years 
since, and were named by some one, whom history does 
not now recall, respectively, Bluebeard’s and Black- 
beard’s castles.” 

The city presented a quaint appearance, with its 
many-colored houses, — pink, yellow, pearl, and stone- 
color, — all blending harmoniously. The roofs of these 
same dwellings were even more delicate in tint and 
closely resembled the leaves of an autograph album. 
As you enter the harbor, you behold the houses, one 
above another, as the land gradually rises, so that almost 
every house appears to good advantage. Directly in 
front of the harbor, and upon the highest eminence 
overlooking the entire place, stands the governor’s 
sumptuous residence ; consequently this hill is called 
“ Government Hill.” 

Follow the winding road which leads past this elegant 
abode, and the first house, just a little farther down the 
hill, is the one to which we will now introduce you. 
Follow me up the broad stone stairs, which lead to a 
spacious balcony built of the same enduring material. 
You need not fear the old do^, who is stretched so 
lazily in the shadiest corner, for we are old friends and 
he will not move. 

The broad-spreading doors are thrown back to their 
widest capacity, that not one cooling breeze shall be 
lost. Looking over the substantial railing which en- 
closes this cool resort, the first thing to which your 
eyes turn longingly is the fountain, in the centre of 
which is a marble deer, with its head thrown back as if 


HUBBUB. 


9 


in the last struggle, while the water pours in ceaseless 
streams from its mouth. Oh, that laughing, sparkling- 
water ; how musical it sounds as it splashes back into 
the basin, sending showers of spray in all directions. 
Around it grow the loveliest flowers, trailing vines, and 
rare shrubs, twining and blending in beautiful confusion. 
In one corner of the yard stands a large orange tree, 
laden with buds and blossoms, oranges lusciously ripe, 
and oranges green. A rustic seat stands under the old 
tree, and on it, half open, lies a volume, and the letters 
are printed in such glittering characters that you have 
no trouble in discovering the title, ‘‘ Robinson Crusoe.” 
A hedge of oleanders enclose the entire grounds, and 
looks like a wall of beauty with its fragrant blossoms. 
But looking far over the hedge, beyond the road paved 
with cobble stones, and over the lovely green trees 
growing on lower ground beneath us, we look beyond 
the limits of the city, and away down the harbor, where 
the water looks green along the shore, reflecting the 
hills against whose foundation it dashes, taking with it 
rich and spicy perfumes back to the old salt ocean. 
Sometimes, in fact not infrequently, fierce storms visit 
this lovely place, and the trees bow to the hurricane 
and are snapped like the niost brittle thing in its fury. 
One would not think this laughing, sunny water, so 
still in the hush of this breathless day, could ever grov^ 
so tempestuous, of dashing against these mountains 
seem to dispute their right to an existence, and threaten 
by all the power that water can command to undermine 
them. But for years this struggle has been going on 


10 


HUBBUB. 


and still the glorious old hills are master of the situation 
And as the water laps lovingly against them to-day, 
you would not dream that there had ever existed any 
enmity between land and water. 

But let us turn our backs on this brilliant prospect 
and enter the room at whose portals we have so long 
lingered. The room is large and airy, and so much, 
higher than most rooms that you feel for a moment al- 
most as if you were in a church. A glittering chande- 
lier hangs from the centre of the room, whose dazzling 
glass pendants catch each little ray of light and reflects 
rainbow tints on the wall, and also on the sunny hair of 
the lady, who reclines in an airily-constructed easy 
chair. Costly pictures adorn the walls, and the furni- 
ture of the room is in strict keeping with the heat of 
the climate. A cool straw matting on the floor is re- 
lieved by occasional mats of great brilliancy of color and 
differing designs. 

The marble table in the centre of the room is strewn 
with books and papers. A delicate shell-work box 
stands open on a little stand near the lady’s chair, and 
the lace on which she has been at work has fallen in 
filmy masses to the floor. 

The lady was perhaps a little past thirty-five. Hers 
was a face of rare purity and sweetness of expression, 
but sickness and recent sorrow were clearly to be traced 
in every delicate lineament. She was dressed in white, 
but the black ribbon at her throat bespoke some recent 
bereavement. Her eyes were closed, but she was evi- 
dently not asleep, for a dear voice calling “Mamma” 


HUBBUB, 


II 


made the lady open her eyes and she smiled sweetly on 
the face of the speaker, a little girl of nine summers. 
She was a pretty child, with dark gray eyes and masses 
of golden-brown hair; her features were regular and 
delicate, but there was an expression of maturity in the 
little face remarkable in one so young. The child 
answered the mother’s inquiring look, by quickly climb- 
ing to one arm of her chair, and throwing a pair of 
dimpled snow-white arms around the lady’s neck. She 
pressed kiss after kiss upon her forehead, eyes, and lips. 

Mamma,” — and this time the eager childish voice 
trembled, — “ there’s a rainbow in your hair, and, as I 
was playing all alone, trying to be so still because I 
thought you were asleep, I looked up and the rainbow 
was all across your hair. You looked just like an angel, 
just like the picture of Christ’s Mother you showed me, 
with the rays of light all around her, and when I asked 
about it you said it was a halo of glory.” Here the 
voice of the child grew husky, and she vainly tried to 
keep back the tears. 

The mother tried to soothe her by explaining the 
cause of the rainbow. Suddenly the sweet, melting ex- 
pression of the child’s face gave place to one of infantile 
rage, and springing from her mother’s loving arms she 
darted to the floor, and with clenched fist, she almost 
screamed, and yet the voice was deep with uncontrolla- 
ble passion. 'Mf you die I shall hate God. I cannot 
help it ! He took my only brother Harry from us, and 
now O, Mamma, Mamma ! ” and throwing herself on 
her knees by her mother’s side, she burst into a flood 
of tears. 


12 


HUBBUB. 


The pale face of the mother grew, if possible, a shade 
paler, and her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears, as 
she reached forth and clasped her little girl close to 
her heart. ‘‘ Edie, darling, do not speak so ; it breaks 
my heart,” she said. In an instant the little white arms 
of the child were around the mother’s neck and she 
was begging, between sobs and tears, to be forgiven. 
After the little one’s grief had subsided and she had 
gone laughingly back to her play, her gentle mother 
pondered anxiously about her darling’s future. Mrs. 
Lyton, accompanied by her two children, had left the 
home of her youth, far away amidst the hills of old New 
England, to join her husband. Captain Lyton, who, after 
following the seas for a number of years, had settled in 
business on this island, v/ith the most flattering pros- 
pects. Two months of uninterrupted happiness fol- 
lowed the arrival of his family, when Edith was stricken 
with fever, and lay for days hovering between life and 
death ; hardly had she recovered when the dreadful dis- 
ease fastened upon her little brother Harry, a sweet 
little fellow of five years. So, a short time before my 
story begins, Harry had been borne from their midst, 
leaving a desolate home for father, mother, and little 
sister. Edith was naturally of a warm-hearted, impulsive 
temperament, quick to enjoy and quick to suffer, and 
possessing, in short, just those elements which might 
make her a power for good or evil. It was not strange 
that her loving mother looked forth into the possibilities 
of that young life with apprehension. Mrs. Lyton pos- 
sessed an intensely sensitive organization, both physi- 


HUBBUB. 


3 


cally and mentally. Long years of ill health had made 
her feel many times that her life would be a short one. 
There were depths in the nature of her little girl she 
could not sound. But she believed that nothing but 
love and gentleness would mould the child into a noble 
woman. 

The shadows begin to lengthen, and the sultry air 
grows fragrant, as the dew falls on the flowers. The 
still water of the harbor breaks into gentle ripples as 
the evening breeze sweeps over it. 

“ Papa is coming ! ” and away springs Edith to meet 
him. 

Captain Lyton is a man of medium height, with broad 
shoulders and strongly built frame, with eyes not unlike 
those of his child, that talk with every changing thought, 
and, after you have studied his face, and furthermore his 
character, you are not at a loss to know how the child 
became possessed' of such an extreme nature. Unlike 
Edith’s, his hair is black, waving back from a finely 
shaped forehead ; his complexion is dark and sunburnt, 
which, to almost any observer, would prove an index to 
the life of danger and adventure he had passed. His 
mouth gave such a decided expression to his face, that 
I should give but an imperfect idea of the man, if I 
omitted this most characteristic feature. It was firm, 
almost stubborn in its inflexible lines, and Edith had 
learned, when a little child, to obey her father the first 
time he spoke. There was one person in the world that 
Captain Lyton never addressed with an air of com- 
mand ; and this was his wife. It always seemed to Edith 


14 


HUBBUB. 


that papa’s voice sounded so sweet when he said, Ella,” 
and older heads thought so too. 

The death of his only boy had been a severe blow, 
and his face still showed traces of grief. With an 
effort at cheerfulness, he pinched Edte’s cheek and bent 
to kiss the little mouth so temptingly held up to him. 
Mrs. Lyton gave orders for the tea to be served on the 
balcony, for it was their favorite custom to sip their tea 
and watch the ever-changing harbor. The sun had set 
in all its blazing splendor, as the old cannon at the fort 
gave warning. The harbor was waking to life once 
more ; gay little sail boats glided here and there, while 
an occasional sail could be seen of some inward bound 
vessel. 

This was the last night father, mother, and child were 
ever to spend together ; and long years after was every 
trifling word and action treasured in the heart of little 
Edith. How she gathered the loveliest flowers and placed 
them in mamma’s lap, while she twined the fairest ones 
in her hair; and how almost etherial her mother looked in 
her fading beauty, as, crowned with flowers, she smiled 
sweetly on the face of the little artist who adorned her. 

‘‘ I must run down into the yard once more, mamma,” 
said Edith, I want just one more rose-bud to put with 
this spray of orange blossoms, and when I have pinned 
it at your throat, you will look lovely.” 

The moonlight, pure and clear, illuminated the whole 
city, and you who have never felt the intoxication of a 
tropical moonlight, can hardly appreciate the raptures 
of that child-heart, so filled with all this wonderful 


HUBBUB. 


15 


beauty. She could hardly talk, and snatches of song 
died on her lips. Long, slanting niys of silver light fell 
across the water, and seemed to those childish eyes like 
a long, glorified pathway, which should end nowhere but 
at the golden gates of the New Jerusalem. All beauti- 
ful things pass quickly, so this blessed evening, with its 
never-ending memories, passed away. 

The 'next day mamma was ill, but not seriously so, 
and Edith installed herself head nurse, and stayed in the 
darkened room all day, until the shadows of evening 
began to gather, and the nurse papa sent, arrived. 
Another day passed wearily away, and still the improve- 
ment the doctor strongly promised, came not ; and yet 
another day, when a terrible fear > stole into the child’s 
heart. Going to her own room, she tried to think, but 
her thoughts were so confused, and this great fear strug- 
gling at her heart seemed to stifle her ; she fell upon 
her knees and tried to pray, but the words died on her 
lips, and the very beating of her own heart seemed to 
her overstrung nerves, like the tolling of a funeral bell. 
Then she wandered into the yard and felt almost dis- 
pleased that God’s beautiful world should sympathize so 
little with her sorrow. She would go gently into her 
mother’s room, and stealing to her bedside, would watch 
the pale, thin face, and listen to the quick, short breath- 
ing, until it seemed as if her heart would break. Mrs. 
Lyton had been sick nearly two weeks now, and because 
the ravages of the disease had been so gradual the doc- 
tors had been deceived. But now they could close 
their eyes no longer to the dreaded fact, and Doctor 


i6 


HUBBUB. 


P‘'ato said to Captain Lyton, after he had counselled 
^vith one of the most eminent physicians of the city, 
“ T am sorry for you, Captain Lyton, but we have done 
all that human skill can do, and it has been in vain. 
Your wife is dying.” 

Captain Lyton bent in agony over his precious wife. 
Would she know him before she died "i Would she call 
his name once more } The drops of perspiration stood 
almost as thickly on the strong man’s brow, as the death- 
sweat gathered on the face of her he loved. At last 
she spoke his name ; in an instant he was bending over 
her. 

Henry, do you think that I am dying ? ” 

He could not speak, but gently raised her little deli- 
cate hand, on which the death-seal was set, so she could 
see it. 

A beautiful smile broke over her wasted face as she 
looked into the face of her husband. “ Don’t grieve so, 
I am only going home ; and if it were not for leaving 
you and Edith, I should be so happy.” I was dreaming 
just now, and I thought my darling baby boy — our lit- 
tle Harry — came to me, and sung that beautiful little 
hymn he used to sing so sweetly, 

“ ‘ We’re going to the land all laden with perfume. 

Where the grass is ever green and the flowers are in bloom.’ 

“ Henry, you will always love our little girl when I am 
gone. Never let anything come between you, and be 
father and mother, both to her ! ” 


HUBBUB. 


17 


Captain Lyton answered in a choking voice, I will 
try. But Ella, shall I call Edie " 

“ No, Henry ; I kissed her good-night, and felt then 
that we were parting for the last time in this earthly 
life, and why should she awaken yet to a sense of her 
great sorrow. Edith has never had a thought I have 
not shared, and my death will be very hard for her to 
bear, so you must forget yourself for my sake, and com- 
fort her. Raise me in your arms, Henry ; I cannot 
breathe,” she said in a whisper. 

The husband gently raised her, and with a smile of 
angelic sweetness, she passed from time into eternity. 

It was, as the gentle instincts of the mother had for- 
seen, a terrible thing to witness Edith’s grief. Father 
and friends who had come with their kindly sympathy 
in this hour of trouble, and the servants, who under- 
neath their dark skins, have such warm hearts, all vied 
with each'other to soothe the little one’s anguish. At 
last she grew calm and almost womanly in her grief, 
and even when she bent over that open coffin, and 
pressed her lips for the last time to the marble lips of 
her who slept so peacefully, unmindful of her darling’s 
anguish, — Edith was calm. When dark hands bore 
that still form forth from the hearts which had loved 
her so well, and over which she had shed the halo of an 
almost holy life, Edith made no outburst of grief. But 
over Edith Lyton’s life there had fallen a terrible 
shadow 


/ 


HUBBUB, 


iS 


CHAPTER II. 

THE father’s secret.’ 

It was a lovely day, and all nature seemed to be exult- 
ing in its own loveliness, when the steamship Genrusia 
swept gracefully down the harbor. The city was soon 
far away. Bluebeard’s and Blackbeard’s castles looked 
like mere specks in the distance. Poor little Edith 
Lyton was watching the far-away prospect with stream- 
ing eyes and aching heart. Captain Lyton’s face, too, 
is turned towards the island they are leaving, and 
thoughts too sad for utterance are surging over him. 
At length with a great effort, — for Capt. Lyton was a 
man of few words, especially so, when any matter 
weighed heavily on his mind, — he turned his attention 
to his little motherless girl. 

‘‘The water looks pretty as the big wheel makes it 
foam, does it not, Edie ? ” 

“ Yes, papa ; but I was not thinking of the water.” 

“Well, what then was my little girl thinking about }'* 

“ Oh, so many things,” and her lip quivered. “ I was 
thinking for one thing about myself, and where I was 
going to live, and wondering if you were going to live 
with me.” 

“Papa would gladly live with you, darling, but he 
cannot leave his business, you know ; so I am going to 
put you at a good school, where I hope you will make 
rapid progress in your studies, and be able to join me in 


HUBBUB. 19 

a few years ; for I shall be very lonely without my little 
girl.” 

This conversation occurred some four weeks after 
Mrs. Ly ton’s death, on the day when Captain Lyton and 
Edith embarked for the United States. After one week 
of sky and water, with a little seasickness for Edith, 
Captain Lyton and his little girl crossed the plank of the 
steamer and stepped once more on the shores of the 
Great Republic. They spent a few days in the bustling 
city of New York, during which time Captain Lyton did 
his uttermost to entertain and amuse his child, and 
when all arrangements were completed, they started for 
the smaller city, where Edith was to attend school. 

Edith’s teacher. Miss Sullivan by name, lived in an 
old-fashioned red brick house, which, with its imposing 
front door, and stone steps guarded by an iron railing 
either side, to say nothing of the immense door-plate, 
gave a look of dignity to the place, which, to one 
beholding it for the first time, was almost appalling. 

When Edith stood by her father’s side, waiting to be 
admitted into the mysterious house we have just de- 
scribed, her feelings were almost indescribable. Would 
Miss Sullivan be as dignified as her house looked } 
Would she love little girls } ” Her reflections were cut 
short, for the doors swung back as ordinary doors are 
wont to do, and they were shown into a pleasant-looking 
parlor, by a very stout, red-faced servant girl. Edith 
had little time to examine the room or its various arti- 
cles of interest, for the door quickly opened and a lady 
entered. She was tall, with a very pleasant face and 


20 


HUBBUB. 


deep blue eyes. Her black hair was thickly threaded 
with silver, which seemed to be the result of a tendency 
to grow gray young, rather than the result of years ; for 
she was scarcely more than thirty. 

“ I am happy to meet you. Captain Lyton,’’ she said, 
taking his proffered hand, and at the same time extend- 
ing her other hand to Edith. “This is the little pupil 
whom you wrote me concerning } ” 

Captain Lyton assented, and after giving various direc- 
tions concerning the child, he kissed Edith tenderly and 
took his departure. 

Miss Sullivan, the preceptress, was the eldest of five 
sisters, all unmarried ; so Edith who had never lived in a 
large family before, found herself one among a large 
number. There was a lad some twelve years old there ; 
he was a Cuban by birth, and had thus early been sent 
from home and friends that he might acquire perfectly 
the English language; his name was Gonzalo Turado. 
At the time Edith entered the family, Gonzalo could not 
say anything in English but the few words, “Put it 
down there ; ” so, as this was the extent of his English, 
“ Put it down there was used for everything. 

Whether it was a similarity of circumstances, or a 
genuine love of mischief, which made Gonzalo and 
Edith fast friends, we do not know ; but certainly, with 
both of them Miss Sullivan had more trouble than with 
the rest of her school. 

Edith soon became a favorite with all ; she was first 
and foremost in all mischievous plots and was ever the 
one to fall into disgrace, and yet in her very mischief 


HUBBUB. 


21 


she was lovable : if it had been any child but Edie one 
would have wanted to shake her soundly ; but some way 
whatever Edith did was just a little different from what 
any one else would think to do, and so they let it pass. 

On Saturdays there was no school, and Miss Sullivan 
made the little girls learn to sew, and also a long lesson 
in the catechism. 

One Saturday, after Edith had been an inmate of Miss 
Sullivan’s school for six months, she was vainly trying 
to learn a tediously long lesson in the catechism ; her 
darning had been done very poorly that morning, and 
she felt a trifle fretful over the scolding she had just 
received in regard to it. Gonzalo’s black eyes peeped 
into the window, and with his hand like a trumpet over 
his mouth, he whispered in a voice so loud that it reached 
the ears of the teacher, “ Put it down there.” 

Miss Sullivan frowned upon the intruder, and he dis- 
appeared behind the lilac-bush : just then Edith wished 
she was Spanish, or almost any other nationality, so she 
need not study that stupid old book. Again Gonzalo 
creeps noiselessly to the window, and makes all kinds of 
signs to her, intending doubtlessly to hurry her in 
the lesson. At last she managed to hobble through it, 
with some help from Miss Sullivan, and was excused by 
that lady from further work or studies, and away she 
flew to join Gonzalo. 

Not far from the school was a lovely stretch of country, 
and to this, their favorite resort, they repaired with sev- 
eral of the little girls who were Miss Sullivan’s pupils 
also. What a delightful time they enjoyed, gathering 


22 


HUBBUB. 


flowers and wading in the brook. Edith delivered an 
address to her little band of admiring hearers, and to 
close up the afternoon’s amusement Gonzalo and Edith 
succeeded in tumbling into the brook, and had to wend 
their way home in a dripping condition, much to the 
delight of all except Miss Sullivan, who was extremely 
disgusted and sent both of the offenders supperless to 
bed. 

Had Edith forgotten her dear mother and little 
brother in this new whirl of life } Oh, no. Many times 
when all alone she would shed blinding tears, and some- 
times from the depths of her keen anguish she would 
cry, “ O, mamma ! mamma I no one ever loved me as you 
did ; I cannot live without you,” and then, exhausted by 
the struggle, she would grow calm again, and no one but 
God knew the loneliness of the motherless child. 

She used to write to her father very often, and was 
sometimes reproved gently by him for misspelled words, 
and often cautioned not to forget her mother ; and the 
child would think bitterly, ** Does he suppose I can for- 
get all that made life worth the living } ” but she rarely 
spoke of her mother to any one. Once she spoke her 
mind too freely to Miss Sullivan’s mother, and was 
deemed impudent by that lady, who undoubtedly was 
correct in her opinion. Edith was hustled into her 
chamber and told to remain there until she would ask 
the old lady’s pardon ; and three days and a half elapsed 
before the willful child would yield, and then it was a 
kind of compromise. Many times during her imprison- 
ment she would form plans to escape, but the windows 


HUBBUB. 


23 


were so high that she had to give up and submit to the 
inevitable. 

Thus Edith's life passed for three years when Captain 
Lyton came to see his child, and immediately made 
known his intentions of removing her to another school : 
whether he thought she had been attending more to 
play than study, or what his reasons were, we are not 
prepared to say, but certain it is that this change was 
made all in a hurry and bustle, just as all Captain Ly ton’s 
changes were made. 

Edith bade Miss Sullivan and all her little playmates 
a tearful good-by, and followed her father sadly across 
the plank of the river steamboat, and waved a last adieu 
to the little band of friends gathered on the shore. 

“ All ashore ! ” shouts the deck-hand for the third time, 
as he, with the help of another like himself, pulled the 
plank from the wharf, and in another moment the beau- 
tiful steamer is gliding down the river. 

Edith seated herself near the rail, and watched, for- 
getful of almost everything, the lovely prospect spread 
out before her : green fields sweep back from the water’s 
edge as far as the eye can reach ; the scene changes, and 
a gaunt mountain rises forbiddingly for a few moments 
to obstruct the view; the river bends and a populous 
little village, the hum of whose activity you can dis- 
tinctly hear, bursts upon your vision. 

While Edith is absorbed in the changing prospect, we 
will take a look at her father. Captain Lyton has changed 
since we saw him last ; his black, wavy hair is thickly 
threaded with gray, and there is an expression of dis- 


24 


HUBBUB. 


satisfaction in his face, as if his life had been a failure, 
and he was weary of it all. 

At length he throws the paper he has been so intently 
perusing one side, and with a prolonged yawn leans back 
in his chair, balancing the same on its back legs. 

“I am so glad you have finished your paper, papa, for 
I want you to tell me the name of that green island 
yonder.” 

Captain Lyton roused himself and gave the desired 
information, and once roused, he was a very entertain- 
ing companion ; so they conversed on many topics, and 
the time passed quickly. Hitherto Edith’s father had 
avoided all personal subjects, but as the shades of even- 
ing begun to gather, and the part of the boat where they 
were seated became deserted save by father and child. 
Captain Lyton cleared his throat with much decision, and 
without any preamble, dashed into the subject he wished 
to communicate. 

“ Edith,” he said, quickly, “ I have adopted a little 
boy and named him Harry, after our little dead Harry.” 

There was a dead silence, and, with quickly beating 
heart, Captain Lyton waited for Edith to speak, for un- 
derneath his stern exterior he possessed a warm heart, 
and although he understood his child but little better 
than a stranger, he loved her dearly, and had worshipped 
her mother. 

-t When he had stood beside the open grave of her he 
loved better than his own life, he felt that he had lost 
all hold on happiness, and that with the going out of her 
life all the better instincts of his nature were crushed ; 


HUBBUB. 


25 


he had struggled on since then, like a mariner without 
chart or compass, and there was more danger than any 
one suspected, that his weak bark would founder. 

When he found himself thinking of old endearing 
memories, he would drown all such thoughts in the 
most turbulent excitement, anything was better than to 
think ; and so it came about that, borne on by this desire 
to forget and be happy in so doing, Capt. Lyton con- 
tracted his second marriage in six short months after 
his wife’s death. 

He had plunged into this untimely marriage much in 
the same way he would have leaped into his sail-boat 
and go out into a storm, hoping that by the exertion he 
would have to make to steer this frail craft, he might 
for the time being forget all that troubled his inner life. 

In less than one year little Harry was born and he 
loved the child very dearly. The only real solace he had 
found in this second marriage was this little, wee baby. 

The baby’s mother loved her husband with all the 
strength of her warm, southern heart, and never knew, 
poor, trusting soul, that she had given all and received 
almost nothing. 

Capt. Lyton in his cahner moments was ashamed of 
this hasty marriage, and fearing the effect it might have 
on Edith, had decided to let it remain a secret. But 
baby Harry was over two years old now, and sooner or 
later Edith must know the truth, so he thought to pre- 
pare her mind for it gradually this way. 

Had Edith been of a jealous nature this revelation 
would have made her unhappy, but with all the child’s 


26 


HUBBUB. 


wilfulness, and many little faults, she was neither jealous 
or selfish. 

When Capt. Lyton spoke of his adopted boy to her, 
the truthful eyes of his child looked only surprise into 
his own as she simply said, It seems so strange, papa ; 
how old is he } ” 

Little more than two years old,” replied her father. 

Edith timidly took her father’s hand in hers and play- 
fully braided and unbraided his fingers, and giving a 
quick glance to make sure that they were alone, she 
crept close to his side, and leaning against his shoulder, 
nervously twisted the buttons on his coat ; Capt. Lyton 
gathered her up in his arms, and pressed her close to his 
heart, as he showered caresses on the little up-turned 
face. “Never fear, darling, that this child, or anything, 
can ever be as dear to me as you are. Remember you 
are the golden link which binds me to your sainted 
mother.” This was a very unusual outburst of feeling 
in her father, and she was almost dazed by it. 

It was not till they had sat for some moments, with 
the pale moonlight falling serenely around them, that 
Edith ventured to speak. “ Papa, I was not thinking, 
she said very softly (and her voice was so like her 
mother’s), of your loving this little boy better than me, but 
I was wishing you had called him by some other name ; 
I could never bear to call another brother Harry.’^ 

This was the keenest thrust the father had yet re- 
ceived, and revealed to him something of his child’s 
heart. He thought bitterly and not without reason, 
that she would hate doubly to call another woman moth- 


HUBBUB. 


27 


er. It seemed to him that by this rash marriage he had 
separated himself from his child forever, or at least from 
her love. 

Again he threw his arms around her and drew her so 
closely to him in his sudden fear of losing her, that it al- 
most frightened her. What is the matter, papa ; did I 
hurt your feelings } forgive me, and I will love your lit- 
tle adopted Harry for your sake ; ” and Captain Lyton 
kissed his little girl very tenderly, and Edie thought 
that a tear fell on her face ; but it is so easy to be mis- 
taken, and it might have been only spray. 

Thus the father and child separated for the night, she 
to sleep so sweetly in her innocence, while he tossed rest- 
lessly, in troubled dreams. He seemed to be standing 
over his dying wife once more, and slowly, but like a 
death-warrant, her dying words rang out upon his ears : 
** You must forget yourself and comfort her. You must 
be father and mother both to her ; promise me Henry.” 
Then the face of the dying woman seemed to change and 
it was Edith’s face he looked upon, and her gray eyes 
flashed fire and fury from them as she upbraided him for 
his secret marriage, and he awoke to find it a dream. 


CHAPTER-^HL 

ALL ALONE. 


Edith’s new home was not as happy a one as Miss 
Sullivan’s had been. She boarded with a family who 


28 


HUBBUB. 


were old friends of her father, and attended school with 
their daughter, a young miss some year and a half 
Edith’s senior. 

Hattie Thompson was an only child and had been 
petted and indulged all her life ; she was naturally of a 
positive character, and laid down whatever she said with 
an emphasis that implied, I have said it, let no one dare 
contradict me. This manner of Hattie’s often vexed 
Edith, who was possessed of a fine memory, and seldom 
made a statement unless she could back it up with facts. 
Hattie was often forgetful, and although she would not 
tell an untruth knowingly, she sometimes made grave 
mistakes ; but, as a rule, they got on well for girls so 
nearly of an age. 

Hattie’s father was a man of fine personal appearance, 
and was fully aware of this fact as the admiring glances 
he bestowed upon himself in the mirror gave proof. 

He never followed any regular business, but was 
always going to do some wonderful thing, which should 
astonish the world at some future day, so he spent much 
of his time in his cozy easy chair, reading of the brave 
struggles of other men who had made themselves fa- 
mous, whilg his wife, poor soul, worked and planned and 
worried for her family. 

It was not because they had any love for motherless 
Edith that they consented to board her, but because 
the remuneration they would receive would be a great 
help in family expenses ; so taking Edith’s new home in 
all its bearings, it was not a pleasant one. If she talked 
of an evening she was sure to incur the displeasure of 


HUBBUB. 


29 


Mr. Thompson, who did not hesitate to extinguish all 
the light from that young life for days after, by giving 
her the most withering sarcasm. 

With Mrs. Thompson she found no more love and 
sympathy than with her husband ; if she did not express 
herself so clearly as Mr. Thompson was in the habit of 
doing, her hints were quite as objectionable, and the 
sensitive child understood them although she said noth- 
ing ; gradually she became more and more isolated from 
the family, and would spend hours in her own room 
reading there. 

It was there that she forgot herself and all her vexa- 
tions as she read Waverly, Ivanhoe, and many inter- 
esting stories. 

There was one bright, beautiful thing in Edith’s life, 
and this was her love for a lady teacher in the institu- 
tion where she was a pupil. Miss Vanblack was indeed 
a lovely woman, and under her gentle influence Edith 
expanded like a flower ; in fact, the wilful child was as , 
tractable as one could wish. 

Two years passed swiftly away, two years of trial to 
Edith, years of daily aggravation ; it would have been 
impossible to have told her nearest friend the difflculties 
of her every-day life ; it was like walking through a field 
of thistles and feeling them stab you at every step ; yet, 
as you look back upon your thorny pathway, each and 
every particular thistle looks so innocent you cannot de- 
termine which has been the offender, and Captain. Lyton, 
in his far-away home, heard not so much as a murmur 
coming from his child, and supposed her happy ; and as he 


30 


HUBBUB, 


found her steadily advancing in her studies, troubled 
himself no more with the matter. 

There was one thing which did trouble him, it haunted 
him by day and by night, and sometimes he would fly 
to strong drink to obliterate, at least for a few hours, this 
veracious subject, which was no other than the secret of 
his marriage. After much thought he decided to brave 
the worst, and write the whole truth to Edith. 

Some two weeks after Capt. Lyton had written to re- 
veal the secret which had so long distracted his mind, 
Edith came home from school, feeling unusually gay; 
she hummed a lively tune as she ran lightly up-stairs, on 
her way to her room. 

‘‘ There is a letter for you, called Mrs. Thompson, and 
Edith eagerly took her letter and seated herself in her 
own little room to read it. We will look over her 
shoulder while she reads. 

‘‘My Dear Edith, — Yours of Oc£ 15th came duly 
to hand, and really I am delighted with the progress you 
are making in your studies, as your letter convinces me, 
and more so as I long to have your school-days over and 
to have you join us here. I trust my dear little Edie 
will forgive me when I tell her that, fearing to hurt her 
feelings, I made a great mistake in concealing my mar- 
riage, which occurred several years since. My wife is a 
lovely woman, and loves you already because you are my 
own little girl. Harry is growing to be a fine boy, and 
loves you very dearly, and often prattles about you. 
Whatever you may think, I beg of you not to hate your 


HUBBUB, 


31 


poor father for an act for which he has bitterly repented. 
Truly, my child, I would bear all the pain which I know 
this disclosure will give you, if I could. So I trust you 
will forgive me, and remember that my greatest fault 
has been in loving you too well. 

“ Your affectionate father, 

H. Lyton.’^ 

With a groan she threw the letter from her as she 
finished the last word, and pressing her hands tightly to 
her forehead, she tried to think ; it was dreadful, another 
woman in her mother’s place, and had been for so long, 
and she was happy in her blissful ignorance ; she must 
be dreaming, it could not be true ; and picking up the 
letter, she read it slowly through, letting each word sink 
into her very brain. Then she leaned her feverish brow 
against the window-pane, and tried to realize the truth. 
Hot, scalding tears gathered in her eyes and fell in tor- 
rents down her face. At length she grew calm and 
determined that no one, not even her father, should 
know what she suffered. So she choked her anguish 
back into her heart and gave no outward sign of the 
inward struggle. As soon as she could command her- 
self she wrote her father a letter, in which she spoke 
kindly of his wife, and wished him to be very happy. 

After this Edith grew more thoughtful than she had 
ever been, and applied herself with renewed energy to 
her books during the six months that followed. 

About this time, the letters she had always received so 
regularly from her father stopped, and for four weeks Edith 


32 


HUBBUB. 


had been anxiously waiting for a letter. She felt rest- 
less and anxious as she inquired of Mrs. Thompson, one 
night, if there were any letters for her ; there was one, 
and Edith noticed as she seated herself in her little 
sanctum to read it, that it was directed in a strange 
hand-writing. A feeling of dread possessed her, and it 
was not for some moments that she gathered strength 
to open it. It was a brief letter from the American 
Consul of the place where Captain Lyton lived, telling of 
his’ sudden death with rheumatic fever. 

The rain dashed against the window-pane with a 
ceaseless patter, and seemed to say, first in a gentle 
whisper, and then louder and louder, the two sad words, 
“ all alone.” Seated on the floor with her face buried 
in the cushion of her chair, she gave full sway to the 
grief which overwhelmed her. 

Thus she had remained for one long hour so still, that, 
were it not for an occasional sob which shook her frame, 
one would have hardly known that she lived or suffered. 

“Have you received bad news, Edith,” said Mrs. 
Thompson, entering the room. 

Edith made no answer but held out her hand with the 
crumpled letter in it. 

Mrs. Thompson quickly read it, and proceeded to say 
that, undoubtedly, it was all for the best. “ I hear,” she 
continued that your father of late has grown dissipated, 
and had he lived longer it might have been to disgrace 
you.” 

This was a sudden revelation to Edith, and coming at 
such a time, was the one drop of bitterness too much ; 


HUBBUB, 


33 


it was like probing a dangerous wound ; but she was too 
completely overcome by all this dreadful suffering to 
make any reply, and she thought, Will it never be over? 
Will she never stop talking and leave me alone ? When 
Mrs. Thompson left the room, her own eyes were moist, 
for the silent grief of the child was more touching than 
the wildest outburst would have been. 

The rain still kept falling, keeping up a mournful 
accompaniment to the young girl’s grief. Twilight 
came, and long shad^jvs crept into the room, falling like 
a pall over the child Her bright sunny hair looked 
black in the gathering gloom ; but what cared she for 
darkness ? was not all the light in her young life extin- 
guished ? Oh, if she could only die and be at rest for- 
ever ! Then the memory of the five sad years since her 
mother died came surging over her, and she longed, thus 
early in life’s journey, for rest and forgetfulness. 

Gently opening the door, Hattie Thompson softly 
entered the room ; so softly, that Edith, absorbed as she 
was in her own grief, hardly was aware of her presence, 
until she bowed her head on the same chair with Edith, 
and was sobbing as if this great sorrow was her own. 
Edith raised her head for the first time, and said, in a 
husky voice, Heaven bless you, Hattie, for these tears 
you have shed with me ; they have spoken to my heart 
as words could not, and I will never forget them.” 

Edith was indeed all alone. She had one uncle, her 
mother’s only brother, Amos Hazel by name, who was as 
unlike Edith’s gentle mother as brother and sister could 
well be. He had made the warmest professions of love 


34 


HUBBUB. 


for his sister during her lifetime, and had shed some tears 
when the news of her untimely death reached him, and 
straightway composed a piece of poetry concerning her, 
— for he was quite a poet, — and then had gone back to 
his old dreamy life, scarcely giving Ella’s child a thought. 
He might have shown more interest in his little niece 
had it not been for his wife, who had ever felt a certain 
jealousy of Ella during her life-time, as she was much 
beloved by all who knew her ; and this jealous-natured 
woman could not bear to have her praises sung even 
after her death; besides this, she had two daughters 
of her own, and was ever on the alert for fear Edith 
would in some way outshine them. Edith possessed a 
pretty face, "(^his fact, combined with a certain power to 
please, which Edith had in great measure, was sufficient 
to make her an object of aversion to Mrs. Hazel, or 
Aunt Laura, as the child used to call her. 

During the occasional visits Edith had made them. 
Aunt Laura lost no opportunity of prejudicing her hus- 
band’s mind, and although always sweet to the child’s 
face, behind her back she exaggerated every little child- 
ish folly, until Amos Hazel had learned to think of the 
child with a sigh and wish, in the words of his wife, that 
she was more like her lamented mother 

Mrs. Hazel’s sitting-room was a bright, cheerful room, 
although far from elegant. In one of the long windows 
which looked out upon a pleasant piazza, hung a pot of 
trailing vines, while an occasional tiny blossom gave 
light and color to this mass of green. Under it stood a 
green wire stand, full of choice house plants. 


HUBBUB. 


35 


A fat gray cat was stretched at full length on the rug 
in front of the stove, while a tall girl, evidently some 
twenty years of age, reclined languidly in the old-fash- 
ioned arm-chair, near the rug on which kitty was vainly 
trying to snooze : vainly, I say, because Victoria Hazel 
was trying to interrupt that nap with an occasional kick 
of her shapely foot. “ Don’t kick that cat another time,” 
cried a sharp and angry voice ; you are always doing 
something disagreeable, Victoria Hazel.” The speaker 
was Laura Hazel, the younger sister. She was opposite 
in all respects from her languid sister. Victoria’s hair 
was black and abundant, her complexion very sallow; but 
she had one redeemable feature in a pair of splendid 
bkick eyes, which atoned in great measure for the snub 
nose and homely mouth. 

Laura was three years her junior, and was as full of 
life and vivacity as her sister was languid. She was 
small and slight in form, and had it not been for two 
playful dimples, which gave her a witching look, one 
would have called her very plain. 

Victoria raised her eyes from the book she was read- 
ing, and darted an angry look at her sister. 

I will kick the cat if I want to, saucebox. I was not 
hurting her at all : you are very tender of your old cat ; ” 
and, with this last remark, she lifted the cat on her foot 
and gave her a toss. 

Laura threw down her sewing and ran to the rescue 
of her favorite, scolding and fretting lustily, until the 
mother, hearing the disturbance from the next room. 


3 ^ 


HUBBUB. 


where she was busy with household duties, opened the 
door, and said, — 

“Come, girls, don’t quarrel; one of you had better 
come out and help me a while.” 

“ Make Victoria go,” said Laura. “ I am sewing, and 
she is not doing anything.” 

“ I am tired almost to death. Mother Hazel,” groaned 
Victoria, ‘‘and I shall not do another thing to-day ; if 
you want any help, let that lazy Laiira help you; she is 
too hateful to live.” 

Laura had just commenced an elaborate defence of 
herself when the door-bell rung, and away she flew to 
answer the call. Returning a moment later she ex- 
claimed, — % 

“ It is a letter from B., but it is not in Edith’s hand- 
writing, and I am crazy to know its contents ; ” so, suiting 
the action to the word, she broke the seal and read. It 
proved to be a short letter from Mr. Thompson, making 
known Captain Lyton’s death, and requesting Mr. Hazel 
to make inquiries concerning his life insurance, as 
Captain Lyton had been insured in a prominent com- 
pany in the city where Mr. Hazel lived. 

Mrs. Hazel’s brother, a wealthy man, was one of the 
directors of this same company, and to him, from time 
to time, had the business connected with this insurance 
been intrusted. 

“ Well, I declare ! ” said Mrs. Hazel, sinking into a chair. 
“ I suppose we shall have to have that child come here, 
now. Well, she can help me about the work, and his life 
insurance will pay her way, for I believe it amounted to 


HUBBUB. 


37 


about two thousand dollars ; that is, if it has been kept 
up all right ; but the Lord only knows what Henry Lyton 
has been doing for the last two years, and he may have 
neglected even this. But Amos must go and see my 
brother Lucian to-night, and find out all about it. In 
case there is nothing left for her, I suppose I shall have 
to take her all the same, and Amos’’ mother too, for that 
matter.” 

Mrs. Lyton’s mother had always lived with her until 
she went to the West Indies, and since then Captain 
Lyton had supported her. 

The thought of all this oppressed Mrs. Hazel deeply, 
and she went back to her work with a heavy heart. 

She was a tall, gaunt woman, with the same dark sal- 
low complexion she had transmitted to her children. 
Her hair was iron gray, and her eyes large and black. 

Lucian Barker had worked his way up from a poor lad 
to wealth and influence. He was a hard, calculating 
man, and was far from pleased when he found that the 
last payment on Captain Lyton’s life insurance had been 
neglected, — a neglect which left the orphan child of his 
old friend destitute, for it was ascertained that Captain 
Lyton had left his business in a complicated condition, 
and nothing remained for Edith. 

Lucian Barker might have used his influence in behalf 
of the unfortunate child, and obtained something from 
this wealthy company ; but she had no influential friends 
to plead in her behalf, and so this rich man, this benevo- 
lent gentleman, settled back in his easy chair, and won- 
derexl how any one could be so careless about matters 


38 


HUBBUB, 


of such grave importance, and also went to considering 
what was best to do with Henry Lyton’s child, the re- 
sult of which deliberation will be given in our next 
chapter. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Edith’s new home. 

It was the morning of the day that Edith arrived at 
her Uncle Hazel’s. The world looked like a garden on 
this beautiful day ; the trees were white with blossoms, 
and Edith, standing under Aunt Laura’s old golden sweet 
apple tree, felt the loveliness of the scene to the utmost 
extent of her nature. Little birds twittered in the boughs 
of the old tree, while every passing breeze sent showers 
of delicate pink and white leaves all around her. Ming- 
ling with her rapturous appreciation of this lovely spring 
morning was a feeling of intense sadness. She had 
borne up bravely through all the trying days which had 
followed the announcement of her father’s death ; but all 
the time tugging at her heart was that dreadful feeling 
of loneliness and pain. Her sad reflections were soon 
cut short by Aunt Laura’s voice. 

“Come, Edith, here is the broom; just sweep the 
back stoop nicely, and then sweep the front sidewalk as 
clean as you can.” Edith was unaccustomed to the use 
of the broom, and but half the task was accomplished 
when two big blisters made their appearance on the del- 
icate palms ; but she kept bravely to her work, pausing 


HUBBUB. 


39 


only to get breath until the work was finished ; but all 
the time the pain at her heart kept growing until it 
seemed unbearable. Edith had hardly hung the broom 
in its accustomed place when the voice of Aunt Laura 
again commanded her to go into the yard and take the 
clothes from the line. Wearily, the young girl took up 
the heavy basket and went out to do her aunt’s bidding. 

Edith has changed much since we first described her 
as a little girl, playing by her mother’s side. Five years 
had elapsed, and Edith had just passed her fourteenth 
birthday ; a very pretty picture she made, as, standing on 
tiptoe to reach the line, she removes one after another 
of the articles hanging thereon. She was still a little 
thing, and the hand that tugs away at that obstinate 
clothes-pin is no larger than a child’s. Her hair looks 
like threads of burnished gold, as the sunshine rests 
upon it, and, confined by a single ribbon, falls in waving 
masses far below her waist ; hers was a speaking face 
full of light and shadow ; the dark gray eyes have gained 
a deeper look with the years which have brought such 
varied experiences ; her mouth was one of those tempt- 
ing rose-bud mouths one could never see without desir- 
ing to kiss ; but just now it was shut so tightly, with the 
strong effort she was making to look unconcerned, that 
one felt like crying for her. Taking her all in all, she 
was one of those sweet, innocent, trustful natures, and 
seemed to have been born to be loved and protected. 

Edith placed the clothes-basket with its heavy con- 
tents on the kitchen table, when again Mrs. Hazel spoke. 
“You may pare the potatoes for dinner, Edith but just 


40 


HUBBUB. 


at this point Cousin Laura interposed. “ Come, mother, 
do let Edith rest a moment. I should think she would 
be tired, travelling all night on that tiresome steamboat, 
and you have kept her going steadily for the last hour. 
I will pare the potatoes myself. Edie, you go ani lie 
down, or sit in the big ehair and rest.” 

Edith was glad to do as Laura directed, for she was 
tired and sick at heart. Victoria looked languidlv up 
from the book she was reading, as Edith entered the 
room, and said, “ Poor little thing ! you must be tired to 
death, and you have had so much trouble too. Mother 
never knows when any one has done enough.” 

And then with a prolonged yawn she returned to her 
book. 

A few days after Edith’s arrival, Mrs. Hazel made 
known her intention of cleaning house, and stated that 
she should expect Laura and Edith to help her. 

Aunt Laura was scrupulously neat, and although no 
daring insect had ever been found in her beds, still for 
fear of such a dreadful danger, she washed her bed- 
steads twice a year, and after dipping a feather into 
some poisonous drug, she would thoroughly paint them 
in every crack and crevice ; so to Edith and Laura she 
intrusted this part of the business, with many directions. 
Laura was silent for full five minutes, a wonderful length 
of time for that young lady, when her voice broke the 
stillness with, 

“ Come, all you bed-bugs, to the slaughter 
Of Mrs. Hazel and her youngest daughter.” 

This produced too much laughter on the part of Mrs. 


HUBBUB. 


41 


Hazel’s assistants, * for it very much retarded their 
progress. Aunt Laura commanded silence, and with 
subdued giggling they continued their work. 

This was new work for Edith and soon her hands 
looked like illustrated maps, where, here and there, the 
skin had disappeared ; and so her life passed for three 
weeks, when one day she was invited into the parlor, 
to be introduced to a gentleman. He was a tall, heavily- 
built man, apparently forty five years old; his hair was 
iron gray, and a full beard of shaggy whiskers, with very 
grizzly eyebrows, gave him a rough-and-ready look. * 
Mrs. Hazel was all smiles as she introduced Edith as 
“ my neice, Edith Lyton, Mr. Prentice.” Edith timidly 
took his hand as Aunt Laura explained. Mr. Prentice is 
a near neighbor of ours; the thought crossed Edith’s 
mind that it was strange for Aunt Laura to take so much 
trouble to introduce her to a stranger, as often, since she 
had been there, she was not even asked into the parlor 
when they had company ; but Edith was unsuspecting, 
and the thought soon passed out of her mind. 

The next day Mr. Prentice called again, and invited 
Edith to go to ride with himself and wife, an invitation 
she gladly accepted. 

Mrs. Prentice was a woman of middle age, but very 
well preserved, and was as over-particular in her manner 
of dress as her husband was the reverse. She possessed 
a pair of very handsome blue eyes, but they were simply 
handsome ; 'there was no soul in them, and as their cold 
glance fell upon Edith, she felt chilled to the heart, 
and so the ride was not a very delightful one to Edith. 


42 


HUBBUB. 


The day following the ride Edith was honored by a 
call from Lucien Barker, during which he made known a 
proposition he wished to make for her consideration. 

“ Mr. Prentice,” he said, “is a gentleman I have known 
for many years, and if one of my daughters were left as 
you are, I could desire no better home than he could give 
her. Mr. Prentice has but one child, a son, who against 
his father’s wishes has joined the Southern army, and in 
all probability he will never return ; so of course Mr 
Prentice's home is very desolate. I went to him and 
^ told him about you, he desired to see you and you al- 
ready know the rest. He was much pleased with you 
and would like to have you come into his family as his 
own child. I will give you two days to think the matter 
over in,” Mr. Barker continued, “ at the end of which 
time I will come for your decision.” 

The two allotted days soon passed and Mr. Barker 
came for Edith’s answer. 

“What have you decided to do } ” he asked, after a few 
moment’s delay. 

“Mr. Barker,” said Edith, “do you not think I could 
do something to earn my own living, it is so hard to be 
dependent 

“ Why, my dear child,” he replied impatiently, “you 
never did anything in your life, and you are too young 
and too small, and if I were you I should rather be de- 
pendent where I was wanted than where I was not.” 

This last remark cut deep, but she knew (he truth of 
it full well, so without making more objection she quietly 
said, “Very well, I will go to live with Mr. Prentice.” 


HUBBUB, 


43 


That night the Hazel family talked the matter over, 
and Victoria remarked, languidly, that she should not 
think they would want Edith to go there, for Mr. Prentice 
was known to be a perfect old libertine. This last re- 
mark was quickly silenced by Mrs. Hazel who was even 
now fearful that her cherished plan would fall through. 
Laura chimed in with, “For my part I do pity Edith, for 
Mr. Prentice and his wife do quarrel fearfully, and I 
should not think that Mrs. Prentice could be prevailed 
upon to take so pretty a girl as Edith into the family, 
for she is notoriously jealous.” 

“ Come, come, girls, don’t let Edith hear one word of 
this, or you will upset it all, and I want Edith to go there ; 
it will make her a good home, and as for difficulties 
which may arise, she possesses the Lyton grit, and I will 
risk her.” So Edith’s fate was decided. 

Mr. Prentice was a man of wealt{i and leisure. His 
home was a very pleasant one ; extensive grounds sur- 
rounded the house and were tastefully laid out in wind- 
ing walks, while here and there rare flowering shrubs 
lent shade and beauty to the place. To the right of the 
house, a winding carriage drive swept up to the barn, a 
neat, substantial looking building. 

The house was designed more for comfort than ele- 
gance; a broad veranda across the front, and partially 
around two sides of the house, looked like a bower of 
beauty, on the lovely June morning when Edith looked 
upon it for the first time ; roses and buds hung in rich 
clusters from every post, and trailed in graceful festoons 
from the ornamental railings. 


44 


HUBBUB. 


Edith was left alone on this her first day in Mr. Pren- 
tice’s house, for that gentleman and his wife had a previous 
engagement that called them from home for the day. 
Mr. Prentice said, in his jolly, pleasant way, 

'‘Now, Edith, make yourself perfectly at home; go 
from the top of the house to the cellar if you wish. 
Here is the library this way,” he said, entering a large, 
pleasant room, the long windows of which looked out on 
Mrs. Prentice’s flower-garden. " You will find plenty of 
reading matter here ; so just amuse yourself, and don’t 
get lonesome until we return.” 

Mrs. Prentice haughtily nodded her head to Edith as 
they passed out of the room, and freezingly looked down 
upon the little girl as much as to say. You are scarcely 
worth my notice, but from my supreme height I conde- 
scend to notice even such as you. 

The time passed quickly to Edith for the first hour or 
two, for, selecting a volume from the well-filled shelves, 
she was soon lost in its contents. At length, growing 
weary of reading, and feeling the silence of the house 
almost oppressive, she replaced her book on the shelf she 
had taken it from, and opening the door which led into 
the parlor, slowly walked through the two long rooms. 

Elegant marble vases adorned the mantles, and a long 
mirror dimly reflected Edith and her lovely surroundings. 
Many pictures hung on the walls, which seemed to have 
been bought with a desire to furnish the room rather 
than to gratify the taste of the owner. The stillness of 
the place was stifling, and passing back into the library 
once more, she opened one of the shutters, and stepped 


HUBBUB. 


45 


out on the green lawn and down into the flower garden. 
It was too early yet for many flowers, but there was a 
refreshing newness in every little sprout and twig. The 
. grass was like velvet, and the young leaves on the trees 
were such a tender green, it seemed as if the whole world 
was a new creation. The birds sang jubilantly, and 
Edith wished half sadly that she was a little bird, with 
nothing to do but build a nest in a tree, and sing from 
morning till night, 

Poor child ! how her young heart yearned for love and 
tenderness ; no wonder that the very singing of the 
birds seemed to mock her loneliness. Then she finished 
her walk in the garden and strolled out to the barn. Mr. 
Prentice’s hired man was at work there, and he looked 
merrily up as he saw the timid face of Edith looking at 
him. 

“So you are Mr. Prentice’s adopted girl, are you he 
said, 

“Yes sir.” she replied simply; then the man fell to 
whistling, and Edith wondered why every one should be 
so happy, while she felt so miserable. At last the long 
day was over and Mr. Prentice and his wife returned. 
They took supper in the large, cool dining-room, and 
Mrs. Prentice presided at the table in the same stately 
way. Mr. Prentice pinched Edith’s cheek, and remarked, 
“ We will get some color in those pale cheeks soon ; you 
ought to drink plenty of milk and addressing his wife, 
he said, “Abbie, order Clara to bring in some milk at 
once.” 

Mrs. Prentice raised her eyes to her husband’s face. 


46 


HUBBUB. 


giving him a glance which was intended to be withering, 
as she replied, — 

The milk is all sold, only what we need for family 
uses, she can drink tea, or, I suppose water would be 
more apt to produce red cheeks.” 

This was said with much emphasis on the red cheeks. 
Edith’s pale face had flushed into one blaze of color, 
while Mr. Prentice bit his lip to keep back the gathering 
storm, and said, darting an angry glance at his wife, at 
the same time bringing his fist on the table with such 
force it made the China rattle, “ Henceforth I want you 
to remember that I keep a cow for my own accommo- 
dation, and not for the profit of selling milk ; so never 
dare tell me again that the milk is all sold, for I warn 
you, you will be sorry if you do.” 

The wretched meal was finished in silence, soon after 
which they separated for the night. 

Mrs. Prentice coldly told Edith that, for the present, 
she could sleep with Clara, the maid of all work, as the 
room Mr. Prentice designed to give her was not ready 
for her, and thus poor Edith’s new life began. 

Mr. Prentice was fond of pets, and he became much 
attached to Edith in a short time, a fact which was duly 
noted by his wife, and caused her to hate the young girl 
with renewed energy : at first she was vexed because her 
husband insisted on taking Edith into the family, but 
when she found he was really becoming attached to the 
girl, and instead of remaining away from home, evening 
after evening, as had ever been his custom, he seemed 
contented and happy to spend his time in the home circle. 


HUBBUB, 


47 


she began to fear that she had a dangerous rival in this 
mere child, and hated the innocent cause of her trouble 
with all the strength of her narrow nature. She com- 
pelled Edith to do the roughest kitchen drudgery, and 
left no stone unturned to make her life unbearable. 

Sometimes Mr. Prentice would say, “ Come Edith, get 
on your things and go with me ; I have got business up 
to the farm, and it will be a pleasant ride for you.” 

Edith would be ready as soon as the horse was at the 
door, and away they would go, with Mr. Prentice’s old 
dog Snip sitting between them, and for a few hours the 
child would be happy ; for she did not see the angry face 
of Mrs. Prentice looking after them, as, with clenched 
fist and hissing voice, she vowed vengeance upon Edith’s 
unsuspecting head. 

One night Mr. Prentice had returned home after a long 
ride, very tired : he devoured his supper with a keen rel- 
ish, and, lighting his cigar, repaired to the veranda to 
smoke. 

'' Come, Edith, I want you,” he called, and away she 
bounded, glad to be by his side. 

For some reason he was more communicative to-night 
than usual, and said, as he drew her gently towards him, 
“ I love you just as dearly as if you were my own child, 
and I wish you were my own flesh and blood, for then I 
could show my love just as I desire, and no one could 
talk. You have made my home very bright, little girl, 
since you came. God bless you I ” 

Edith’s heart was full ; this was almos t the first words 
of affection she had listened to since she parted from 


48 


HUBBUB. 


her father. Her eyes were full of tears as she pressed 
his hand in silence. Just then a soft shower of rain 
commenced to fall, but the stars were shining, and Edith 
said, “ How strange ! ” when Mr. Prentice spoke in a voice 
of thunder, “ Abbie, don’t throw that stream of water in 
this direction again, for if you do, you will regret it.” 

Mrs. Prentice had seen fit to turn the hose in their 
direction, for as she was out late watering her flowers, 
she heard her husband and Edith talking, and crept 
nearer, that she might hear the whole of the conversa- 
tion ; and as she listened to the words of affection he had 
uttered, she could bear no more, and quickly, without 
thought, she turned the water upon them. This was 
but one of the many annoying things she was constantly 
doing 

One day Edith stopped, on her way to school, at her 
uncle’s. She noticed that Victoria treated her with un- 
usual coldaess, while Laura scarcely spoke to her : the 
fact was. Aunt Laura had learned through Mrs. Prentice, 
things were not going smoothly at their house. Aunt 
Laura was fearful that Edith would be obliged to leave 
there, but was fully determined that she should not re- 
turn to her house, for she said she had all she wanted to 
do to take care of her own family, with the addition of 
Amos’ mother. As for Edith, it was of little moment 
to her what became of her ; it was better for her and her 
children that Edith should live elsewhere, but whether 
happily, disgracefully, or otherwise, it mattered not ; so 
she had instructed the girls not to give their little cousin 
any sympathy, else she might think to return to them. 


HUBBUB, 


49 


The poor child’s cup was full to overflowing, and this 
added feather almost broke the camel’s back. As she 
was passing sadly out of the room, Mrs. Hazel said, 
Edith, I wish to see you after school, I have something 
particular to say to you.” Edith wondered all that after- 
noon what Aunt Laura wished to say to her, but stopped 
at night as she was requested. 

Mrs. Hazel asked her to go into the next room with 
her, as she wished to see her alone, and commenced by 
looking at Edith severely, as she said, I want to know 
if you are going to do any better at Mr. Prentice’s than 
you have done.” 

No, Aunt Laura,” she replied, I have done my best, 
and no one can do better.” 

Tut ! tut ! ” said Mrs. Hazel, *‘you know better than 
that. Mrs. Prentice tells me that if she asks you to 
wash dishes, you break them and hide them, and when 
any questions are asked, you even tell untruths to escape 
blame. What have you to say to all this } ” 

Edith was angry ; she had borne and borne, but to be 
accused of what she never had done, and, worst of all, 
to have her truthfulness brought into question, was more 
than she could endure. The gray eyes grew large and 
dark, while sparks of fire seemed to flash from them ; 
her face was ashy pale, even her lips : but she had not 
been through the discipline of the last five years with- 
out result ; so, with a terrible effort at self-control, she 
replied, “ I went to Mr. Prentice, not as a servant, Aunt 
Laura, but to take the place of a child to them. Mr. 
Prentice has been as kind as my own father could have 


50 


HUBBUB. 


been ; his wife, on the contrary, has lost no chance to 
make my life wretched ; but I can truly say that never yet 
have I refused to do anything she has asked of me, and 
have done it as well as I knew how ; the story of my 
breaking dishes and hiding them is totally untrue.” 

“ Edith,” said Mrs. Hazel, ‘^stop right where you are. 
Mrs. Prentice told me this and I shall believe her, for 
all believing you.” 

Edith rose and walked straight to the door. 

“ Come back this moment ! I am not half through 
with you,” said Aunt Laura, in an angry voice. 

“ Yes, you are,” replied Edith ; “You said you did not 
believe what I have said, and that is enough.” 

Aunt Laura screamed, “ Sit down, and hear what I 
have to say ! ” But she might as well have talked to the 
winds that blow, for Edith had rushed past her, and was 
far out on the street. 

For the first time in her life, she wondered if she 
could not kill herself, and thus put an end to this horrible 
life: she hated the light of God’s beautiful sunshine; 
she almost hated God in her agony ; “ for if he loves me, 
why does he permit me to be so miserable t ” She had 
thrown herself on a rustic seat near the barn, after a 
long and unrefreshing walk. The old Newfoundland 
dog, Nero, came up to her, and laying his nose on her 
knee, seemed mutely to sympathize with her, and, throw- 
ing her arms around his neck, she buried her face in his 
silky black hair, and sobbed out her anguish. 

The stars came out one by one, and with her wet face 
pressed against old Nero’s head, she looked up at them, 


HUBBUB, 51 

and wondered if her mother knew how sad and desperate 
her little girl was. 

Breaking upon her sad reflections, was the sound of 
carriage wheels, and soon Mr. Prentice’s pleasant voice 
was heard, as he threw the reins to the stable-man and 
alighted, whistling a gay tune, as he passed down the 
walk where poor Edith sat so disconsolately. 

Humpty dumpty, here we are, hugged up so tight to 
old Nero, and what ! been crying, I declare.” Mr. Pren- 
tice pushed Nero from the seat and seated himself in 
the vacant place. 

^‘Now what is the matter little girl ; this will never do. 
Has any one been cross to her ; this old chap will take 
care of them if they have.” After a little delay, Edith 
told him all, and also made known her intention of leav- 
ing his house.” 

“ I know it has not been pleasant for you here,” said 
Mr. Prentice, “ but I think I have power to make it more 
so.” Just then the shrubbery behind them rustled, but 
as they saw nothing Mr. Prentice continued. “ I love 
you as well as if you were my own child, and would 
rather give twenty thousand dollars than to have you 
leave my home ; you have brightened up the old place 
wonderfully since you came ; but if you cannot be made 
comfortable and happy here, I shall board you elsewhere. 
I shall always do for you as long as I live, and you shall 
never want for anything.” 

It was well they could not see the wrathful visage of 
Mrs. Prentice, who, concealed by the shrubbery, was 
listening to their conversation. Long after they had 


52 


HUBBUB. 


gone in, she lingered to calm her ruffled nerves, and plot 
vengeance on the orphan girl. 

“ I wish I could strangle her,” she hissed between her 
shut teeth; but when an hour later she entered the 
house, one would not have known the calm, haughty face 
of the mistress of this home, for the angry unreasonable 
woman of an hour before. 

Day after day passed wearily away to Edith. Mrs. 
Prentice was a little better to her than formerly, but for 
some unaccountable reason Mr. Prentice avoided her, 
and treated her with indifference. At last the house 
became intolerable, and going to her uncle’s one night, 
she sought her grandmother and told her all her trouble. 
Grandma advised her to leave there at once, and gave 
her money to do so. 

They had a distant relative residing in a village some 
twelve miles away, whose husband was overseer in a 
large mill, and Grandma said, “ Perhaps he would give 
her work ; anything was better than to have her stay at 
Mr. Prentice’s, for they are even now beginning to cir- 
culate stories which will ruin your reputation.” 

I cannot bear it,” sobbed Edith ; “ I have tried hard 
to do right, and everything grows worse with me all the 
time.” 

“ Trust in the Lord, Edith, He knows what is best 
for us, better than we do ourselves,” said Grandma. 

'‘I can’t trust Him,” said Edith, bitterly; if he has 
brought all this trouble on me, I hate Him, and I cannot 
help it.” 

With these last words she sprung, rather than walked 


HUBBUB, 


53 


from the room, and dashed out into the wet street, for it 
was raining ; on and on she went, unmindful of wet feet 
or muddy dress, until, exhausted by this long continued 
physical exertion, she went back to Mr. Prentice’s house 
to sleep for the last time. 

There is no way by which a severe mental agony can 
be soothed, equal to complete physical exhaustion ; so 
Edith, tired and worn out in body, slept. 

When first she opened her eyes next morning, it was 
with a sense of pain she wondered what had happened, 
and gradually the crushing weight of yesterday’s sorrow 
settled down upon her. 

With a heavy heart she made preparation to leave 
the house where, for five weary months, she had suffered 
such keen torture. 

Aunt Laura felt it her duty to say, that she thought 
it best for Edith to make a change, as she understood 
that Mr. Prentice had been heard to remark, that he 
would rather part with anything than Edith ; and that 
if his wife wished, she could get a divorce, or do any- 
thing she saw fit; — but he would never part with the 
adopted daughter. 

“You see,” said Aunt Laura, “you cannot blame Mrs. 
Prentice, for of course she loves her husband, and it is 
hard to be supplanted by any one in your husband’s heart. 

Aunt Laura’s remarks might all have been true ; but 
how could she consistently blame the poor child, who- 
had, against her own inclinations, but because there was 
no alternative, been placed in the lion’s mouth, 

Edith bade Grandma a warm good-by, and Grandma 


54 


HUBBUB. 


whispered in her ear. Don’t never say you hate God 
again, darling; but just trust Him.” And with fast- 
falling tears, the young girl stepped forth into the wide, 
wide world. 


CHAPTER V. 

HOMELESS. 

Edith dried her eyes, for she wished to pass along 
unobserved ; but before she had accomplished half the 
distance to the railway station, she saw with dismay Mr. 
Prentice’s familiar carriage approaching. A moment of 
unpleasant suspense ; would he know her ? Yes, he no- 
ticed her, and quickly drove up to the sidewalk. 

“Where are you going, Edith } ” was his first inquiry, 
as he took a hasty look at the little sad face, and the 
heavy travelling bag she was making so much effort to 
carry. 

“ I am going to W.,” she said, with downcast eyes. 

“ Why are you going there, Edith ? ” 

“ Because I wish to,” she replied evasively. 

“Well, get into the carriage, and drive home with me, 
and if, after dinner, you really wish to go, I will drive 
you to the station.” 

• “I prefer to walk she slowly answered, with averted 
eyes.” 

Mr. Prentice was vexed ; the cold, proud way in which 
this young girl had repulsed him, annoyed him beyond 


HUBBUB. 


55 


endurance; so, touching his horse with the whip, he gave 
a prolonged whistle and drove rapidly away. 

Could Mr. Prentice have looked into Edith’s heart, 
and known how much she longed for one kind word 
from him when parting, and could he have realized, also, 
that Aunt Laura’s last words were rankling bitterly, his 
anger would have disappeared like dew before the sun. 
But he realized only this, that after all his love and kind- 
ness, she could leave him without one regret ; so he 
closed his heart forever to the little orphan girl he had 
professed to love like his own. 

The weary walk to the station was at length accom- 
plished, and with dizzy head and panting breath, she 
climbed upon the cars, and away they bounded bearing 
our little friend to her uncertain future. 

Edith’s face was pale, and black circles around her 
weary eyes showed something of the dreadful suffering 
through which she was passing. The distance to W. 
was short, and to a little cottage house, standing not far 
from the railway, Edith bent her tired footsteps. Her 
timid knock was answered by the mistress of this snug 
little home, who started with an exclamation of surprise 
when she beheld Edith, who stood holding the big bag, 
and looking the ghost of her former bright self 

** Why, Edith Lyton, where did you come from 
From H., just now,” she replied. 

Come right in. I almost forgot to ask you, in my 
surprise.” 

Mrs. Brown was a bright little body with laughing 
blue eyes, and waving brown hair, that wanted to curl so 


HUBBUB, 


56 

badly that it always seemed a little dissatisfied that its 
mistress would do it up in puffs and braids, regardless of 
its own inclination. 

“Come, child,” she said, “let me take your things, 
and tell me all about yourself,” I heard that you were 
adopted by a rich man who thought everything of you 
and was going to educate you, and do everything to 
make you happy.” 

Edith related, in a few words, the sad story we are 
already familiar with, and added that she should like a 
place to work in the mill ; Mrs. Brown expressed her sur- 
prise and amusement at this last information, by burst- 
ing into a prolonged laugh : for Edith was so different 
from such a life, had been so tenderly brought up, and 
was withal, such a delicate little thing, it seemed ridicu- 
lous to her ; so she leaned back in her chair and survey- 
ing Edith critically, she laughed hard. 

Edith had endured all she could for one day, and giv- 
ing way to the feeling of utter desolation which pos- 
sessed her, she cried as if her heart would break. Mrs. 
Brown’s laughter subsided at once and she said sooth- 
ingly, “Poor little thing! don’t cry. I will help you all 
I can to get a place in the mill, and in the mean time, I 
would like to have you stay with me, and help me some 
in the care of my baby. I was not laughing at you 
dear, but the thought of such a little thing as you work- 
ing in a mill seemed strange, — that’s all; I cannot real- 
ize it even now, said Mrs. Brown, abstractedly ; “ to think 
of Captain Lyton’s little Edie working in a mill ! ” 

The name of her father brought the tears again to 


HUBBUB. 


57 


Edith’s eyes, and Mrs. Brown kindly changed the sub- 
ject. 

One week passed quickly away, during which time 
Edith made herself very useful to Mrs. Brown. She 
took the baby out for long rides in her little carriage, 
and crochetted pretty edges for baby’s clothes. 

But Edith was impatient for an independent life, and 
worried not a little that she could obtain no employ- 
ment. One day, a bright idea entered her head : she 
remembered having been sent for, one day, to see a 
gentleman and lady who had called at Aunt Laura’s for 
the purpose of seeing her ; she distinctly remembered 
how the lady had arisen, as she entered the room, and, 
scarcely waiting for an introduction, had pushed the 
hair back from her forehead, and after one long, linger- 
ing look, so earnest that she felt almost disconcerted 
by it, the lady had kissed her very tenderly, as she re- 
marked, I loved your mother very dearly, and was hop- 
ing you would look just like her,” and Edith still seemed 
to hear the oft-repeated words of Aunt Laura, as she re- 
plied to Mrs. Abie’s remark, Edith is all Lyton in dis- 
position as well as looks.” Mr. and Mrs. Able resided 
in a small city some twelve miles from where Edith was 
stopping, and to Mrs. Able Edith addressed a letter, 
telling her in a few words that she was very anxious to 
obtain employment, and said she would be under great 
obligations if Mrs. Able could render her any assist- 
ance ; and after sending this letter she prepared to 
make a little visit to her native village, which was 


58 


HUBBUB. 


situated just across the river from the place where Mrs. 
Brown lived. 

It was the first time Edith had visited her old home 
since her father’s death ; and sad recollections filled her 
mind as she walked the once familiar street, which led 
past the pretty house which had once been her home. 

It was a dreary fall day, and the moaning wind 
seemed like a voice from the past, whispering of its 
treasures lost forever, and murmuring sad forbodings for 
the future. 

The honeysuckle — planted by hands that were calmly 
folded in their last long rest — trailed its leafless branches 
wildly, and seemed to say with very restless movement, 
“ Passing away ; passing away !” 

Mrs. Oldham, the lady who had purchased the house 
of Captain Lyton, lived here still, and she gave Edith a 
warm welcome to her old home. Edith wandered 
through the well-remembered rooms, every one of which 
seemed like a monument recalling other and happier 
days. She seemed to see again the dear face of her 
mother, and to hear her sweet voice as she sung some 
old familiar hymn. 

The churchyard was not far distant, and Edith soon 
found herself seated by her little brother’s grave. The 
remains of little Harry had been brought from the West 
, Indies and laid beside his little sister Alice, who had 
died some years before our story opened. 

It would have been a great comfort to Edith to have 
visited her parents’ graves, but this could not be as they 
had been buried on the island where they died. 


HUBBUB. 


59 


A white slab marked the resting place of little Alice ; 
a beautiful hand was carved on the face of the stone, 
holding in its marble fingers a rose and three partly 
open buds, one of which was broken oif, — an emblem 
of the early death of her to whose memory the stone 
had been erected. Under the hand was the simple word 
“Allie.” 

Long Edith sat absorbed by her sad reflections, forget- 
ful of everything but the little graves beside her, and 
the memories which sprung from them. 

At length a gentle voice close by her side aroused 
her, and looking around she was delighted to see her old 
friend Stella Farwell. They had been to school to- 
gether when little slips of girls, had played with the 
same dolls, and sometimes, with a band of other little 
girls, they would go into the vestry of the old church 
yonder, and have a prayer-meeting all to themselves. 

Edith was always the preacher, and after delivering a 
rousing discourse to very wide-awake hearers, she would 
exhort sinners forward for prayers, and sometimes they 
would become so earnest in their play, that her little 
audience would be melted into tears by the stirring 
words of the little preacher. 

Stella Farwell would say to Edith after one of these 
meetings, “You ought to be a preacher when you grow 
up, Edith ; it is beautiful to hear you talk when you get 
so earnest.” 

Together Stella and Edith had tried to compose a 
poem; it was decided, after much discussion, that the 
death of Stella’s brother should be the subject. They 


6o 


HUBBUB. 


invested one cent in foolscap paper, and proceeded to 
business. 

Stella wrote a very pretty little verse and it was purely 
original ; but alas for Edith’s abilities as a poetess, she 
wrote, 

“ Dearest brotlier, thou hast left us, 

Here thy loss we deeply feel, 

But ’tis God who has bereft us, 

He can all our sorrows heal.” 

Stella was in raptures as she always was over Edith’s 
achievements. 

“ If you can write like that now, Edith, when you are 
a little girl, what won’t you be able to do when you are 
a woman } ” . 

Edith received the praises of her friend with becoming 
meekness, and it was well she did so ; for a few days after 
this, as they were walking in the same old burial ground, 
and reading with not a little difficulty the various inscrip- 
tions on the gravestones, they came to one which bore 
the very verse Edith had written. After slowly reading 
the first line aloud, they came to a sudden pause. Be- 
fore Edith had recovered her speech, Stella said, “ Why 
Edith, they have got your verse on this stone.” 

“ I never composed that verse,” said Edith, as the 
truth slowly dawned upon her, “ but really and truly, 
Stella, I thought I did. I must have read it here a long 
time ago, and remembered it, and thought of it the first 
time I tried to write a verse.” ^ 

Stella felt almost as sorry for Edith’s inglorious defeat 
as if it had been her own. 


HUBBUB. 


6l 


Years had passed since then, and the little girls had 
seldom met, but time had never changed the warm re- 
gard they felt for each other. 

“I just now called at Mrs. Oldham’s, and was sur- 
prised when she told me I would find you here ; so I 
waited to hear no more, but came as fast as my feet 
would carry me. Dear Edith, I am so glad to see you ; 
tell me all about yourself. I have heard some few things 
concerning your life since we parted, but I long to hear 
it all from your own lips.” 

Long they talked, until the dew began to fall, when 
Stella said, “ Come, Edith, go home with me and stay 
all night. Mother will be anxious to see you, I am sure.” 

After a little deliberation, Edith accepted the invita- 
tion. 

Stella’s mother was a lovely woman ; she had known 
Mrs. Lyton veil, and loved her motherless child; so 
Edith found kind words and sympathy in Stella’s 
home. 

After a few days, Edith returned to Mrs. Brown’s, 
and, on her way there, stopped at the post-office, to 
see if there was a letter for her. 

During the short time she had spent in her native 
village, she had been made to feel that Edith Lyton, 
the petted child of Captain Lyton, and Edith Lyton, 
his penniless orphan, were two people. 

She was almost surprised, when the looked-for letter 
was handed to her; the experience of the past few 
days had made her doubtful whether Mrs. Able would 
notice her little missive. 


62 


HUBBUB, 


The letter was directed in a bold hand-writing. Edith 
opened it, with trembling fingers, and read the follow- 
ing:— 


‘‘Dear Miss Edith, — Your letter is at hand. My 
wife wishes me to extend to you a cordial invitation to 
come to our house, and make it your home for the 
present, and we will see what can be done about find- 
ing employment for you by-and-by. Mrs. Able requests 
me to say that her cousin, Sarah Lane, is visiting us 
now. Sarah is an old schoolmate of your cousin, 
Victoria Hazel, has often heard the family speak of you, 
and is anxious to see you. Come, if you can, on the 
one o’clock train, to-morrow ; in that case you need not 
write, for I will be at the station to meet you ; other- 
wise let us know when to expect you. 

Very truly your friend, 

Samuel Able.” 

And so Edith’s future was decided. The next day 
found her on the cars, the big bag by her side, bound 
for a new home, new friends, and varied experiences. 

Mr. Able met her at the station, and quickly led the 
way to his carriage. 

He was a man of medium height, slightly built ; his 
hair was light, and his whiskers extremely red, and 
very long. 

A short drive brought them to their destination. 
The house was a large one, with a piazza running 
across the front of it, the roof of which was supported 


HUBBUB. 63 

by immense pillars, which stood in a solemn row, like 
sentinels keeping guard. 

The door was opened almost before they reached it, 
by Mrs. Able, who kissed Edith, and gave her a warm 
welcome ; before they had reached the back parlor, 
they were met by Mrs. Abie’s mother, a sweet-looking 
old lady, in a white cap, and black dress ; and, with much 
emotion, she clasped Edith in her arms as tenderly as 
if she was her own child, and said, “ I want to see 
if you look like your mother. I loved your mother, 
dear, like one of my own children, and she always 
called me Ma Rushton.” 

“And I shall always call you Grandma Rushton,” 
said Edith, in her sweet, musical voice. 

Grandma Rushton kissed her again, and they passed 
on to the cosy back parlor. 

It was a bright, cheerful room, as any room would be 
when Mrs. Able arranged the furniture, for she pos- 
sessed rare taste in this direction. 

Miss Lane was out when Edith arrived, but she soon 
after came tripping into the room, her cheeks as red as 
roses, from the cold autumn air. 

“This is little Edith Lyton, cousin Sarah,” said Mrs. 
Able 

Sarah Lane was one of those who, without being 
strictly handsome, possessed such a wonderful power to 
fascinate, that one never thought of her beauty ; she 
filled a great space all around her ; when she came she 
brought a world of sunshine, and departing, left not a 


64 


HUBBUB, 


ray. She was too selfish to give much if any affection, 
but absorbed all she could in all directions. 

Sarah came forward in a much shorter time than it 
has taken to give this slight description of her, and said, 
in her most winning way, We shall have to call her 
our little Edith, now, — shan’t we, Cousin Lizzie ? ” 

Mrs. Able assented, and Sarah continued, “I have 
heard your cousin Victoria speak of you often ; your 
Cousin Vic. was a splendid scholar ; we went to school 
together ; outside of a book, she is almost good for 
nothing. But your Cousin Laura is a bright little 
thing, — very attractive to gentlemen, I hear.” 

And so Miss Lane talked on until tea was announced. 

What a delicious supper it was ; no one could make 
better biscuit than Mrs. Able, and to-night they were 
faultless, as was also the delicious quince jelly and fra- 
grant tea, oyster stew, and various other good things. 

Miss Lane was in her element at the tea-table ; she 
sparkled with wit and fun, until Edith almost forgot her 
own troubles. 

Supper over, Mr. Able seated himself at the organ 
and they had a delightful sing. 

Mr. Able was one of those men who thought more 
highly of himself than others thought of him, and the 
consequence was, he was ever laboring under the im- 
pression that the world treated him shabbily. 

He was a member of the church, and there, as well as 
elsewhere, he felt that his superior abilities were under- 
rated. At the time Edith came into the family, Mr. 
Able was about forty-five years of age, and at this late 


HUBBUB. 


65 


day had conceived the absurd idea of becoming a physi- 
cian ; had he been gifted, as alas ! he was not, his age 
would have proved a sufficient hindrance for a reasonable 
man, but Samuel Able was not reasonable, so he pushed 
forward, regardless of age or any other obstacle. 

Mrs. Able believed in her husband, to the utmost ex- 
tent of her weak nature ; she had married him because 
she loved him, and placed not only her heart, but her 
fortune in his keeping. Grandma Rushton did not 
share her daughter’s unbounded faith in Samuel Able, 
neither in his abilities as a man, or in his love for his 
wife ; hers was a' more discriminating nature, and she 
believed that Lizzie’s principle attraction to Mr. Able 
had been her money. 

Notwithstanding Grandma Rushton’s objections and 
expostulations, Mr. Able was going to a far distant city 
to study medicine. 

So, on Edith’s first evening there, the matter was 
discussed, and Sarah Lane encouraged him in her sweet- 
est tones to go forward, while in her heart she ridiculed 
the whole matter. 

The evening passed quickly away, and Sarah with 
Edith, retired to the room they were to share together. 

Poor little darling ! ’’ said Sarah, as she wound her, 
arm around Edith. The weary child nestled close to 
her new friend, and, with her head upon Sarah’s shoulder, 
fell asleep. 

The few remaining days of Sarah’s visit passed away, 
and Edith felt almost forsaken when the last good-bys 
were over, and she returned to the bright sitting-room. 


66 


HUBBUB. 


which some way looked dreadfully dark, now that Sarah’s 
presence would gladden it no more for a long time to 
come. 

But the hurry and bustle attending Mr. Abie’s depart- 
ure, kept them all occupied for the next few day. 

During the few weeks Edith had been with Mr. and 
Mrs. Able, that good man had lost no opportunity to 
urge the necessity of Edith’s becoming a Christian. 

The young girl had suffered very much, and her heart 
was in a peculiarly susceptible condition. 

One night Mr. Able, who was a class-leader in the 
Methodist church, asked Edith to accompany him to 
class-meeting. Edith replied to his invitation in a hesi- 
tating manner, “ They always have to speak in class- 
meeting, do they not, Mr. Able.?” 

“ Yes, usually,” said Mr. Able. 

At length Edith decided to go. This was the first 
experience of the kind she had ever had, and it was a 
strange one to her. 

They met in a private house, and the room appropria- 
ted to the meeting looked odd, with its rows of chairs ; 
one after another the members began to gather, and they 
came into the room in such an oppressively solemn way, 
and sat very still, with one hand over their eyes, as if in 
profound meditation, that Edith felt the stillness op- 
pressive. 

Mr. Able commenced the meeting by singing that 
grand old hymn, which age will never make less beau- 
tiful, — 

Jesus, lover of my soul. 

Let me to thy bosom fly.” 


HUBBUB. 


67 


One after another of the voices joined with his, until 
the hymn was sung as Edith never had heard it before. 
Mr. Able asked one of the young brothers present to - 
open the meeting with prayer. And it was a prayer so 
rich with love to God and man, that Edith never forgot 
it, nor the feelings it brought with it. And then they 
sung, 

“ Oh, land of rest, for thee I sigh; 

When will the moment come, 

When I shall lay my armor by. 

And dwell with Christ at home ? 

Then followed the various experiences, until the class- 
leader came to Edith. Every one had spoken, and all 
eyes were turned on the young girl, as she timidly rose, 
and said in a sweet, low voice, I cannot speak of a 
Christian experience, as you have all done ; but I can 
sincerely say, I strongly desire to experience the peace 
of which you have so beautifully spoken to-night, and I 
am determined to seek for it.” 

The amens which followed these few words, so simply 
spoken, were almost deafening, and Mr. Able asked the 
young man who had made the opening prayer to pray 
for this young soul ; and he did pray with such earnest- 
ness, that it seemed as if the gates of heaven opened 
wide to let the wanderer in. 

The meeting was over, and Edith’s name was added 
to the class-book as a member on probation. 


68 


HUBBUB. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Edith’s girlhood. 

A maid just passing through a charmed door, — 
Childhood behind, womanhood just before; 

A fawn-like manner, and a glance so shy, 

I scarce can catch the color of her eye.” 

Six months have passed since we left Edith in her 
new home, — six months of shadow and sunshine. 
Edith has grown very necessary to Grandma Rushton 
and Mrs. Able ; so fond of her have they become that 
they cannot bear to have her leave them so often to at- 
tend meetings. Mrs. Able would say, when she would 
see Edith putting on her things, Going to another 
meeting to-night Edith I wish you would feel it 
your duty to stay home with us more ; ” and grandma 
would chime in, I guess if there were no him’s only 
those found in the hymn books Edith would not go so 
often,” for Grandma Rushton happened to know that 
Edith seldom came home unattended by some of the 
young brothers in the church. 

To all such intimation Edith smiled without even a 
blush, as she replied gaily, “ Really grandma, if the 
hymns in the book were not far more interesting than 
any I have found out of it, I should much rather stay 
with you ; ” and even grandma half believed her. 

On Sunday Edith was always at church, and many 
eyes used to rest with interest on that sweet, upturned 
face, so earnest in its devotion. 


HUBBUB. 


69 


Sometimes the minister would find himself preaching 
almost exclusive to those intense gray eyes, which 
seemed to reflect the very thoughts he uttered. 

Now and then a cloud would shadow the face, as if 
the words were hard to understand, and required all the 
faith she could command to make them clear. Edith 
never did anything half way ; her’s was a most earnest 
nature, and she carried her Christian experience into the 
most minute affairs of every-day life, and as her ideal 
was lofty she felt constantly dissatisfied with her pro- 
gress toward a higher life. 

Mr. Able came back to his home with a more exalted 
opinion of himself than he had ever before entertained-; 
for had he not been studying medicine ? and would he 
not soon be able to practice that same knowledge in a 
way which would astonish all his former acquaintances } 

He walked the streets with an air of importance, 
meeting his old friends with stiffness, undoubtedly in- 
tended for dignity, but which, to say the least, was freez- 
ing in the extreme. 

Mrs. Able was more than ever impressed with the 
superior attainments of her husband, and straightway 
affixed the title of Doctor to his name, — a title which 
other people unintentionally or maliciously omitted, — 
an omission which caused much annoyance to the 
new doctor and his worthy wife. 

Edith was still very anxious to earn her own living, 
and with this object in view, she consulted long and 
earnestly with Mr. Able ; he decided to see what he 
could do to help her obtain employment. 


70 


HUBBUB, 


After considerable delay the desired place was found 
and Edith, for the first time in her life, stood before one 
who wished for her services. 

Mr. Carter was a shrewd man of business, and had 
charge of the girls in the large confectionery manufac- 
tory where he was one of the firm. 

“ I am afraid this girl is too young ” he said, giving 
Edith a searching glance. Mr. Able said, Just give 
her a trial. Carter, I think she will suit you.” Mr. Car- 
ter fixed his eyes once more on the young girl, with a 
prolonged stare, which made the color come in hot 
waves to her face. 

After a silence, which seemed unendurable to Edith, 
he said, “ You can come and try it Miss Lyton, and if 
you don’t suit us we will not hesitate to tell you, and if 
you don’t like the place you can leave at any time.” 
Edith was delighted ; first, because she had obtained 
the place, secondly, she was relieved from the searching 
glance of Mr. Carter’s penetrating eyes. 

Early the following day she started for the place 
where she was to commence her first actual experience 
of a business life. 

So fearful was she of being late she reached the store 
before it was open, and had to linger some time before 
she could gain admittance. 

The first work given Edith to do was sorting gum 
arabic, and the little hands flew nimbly at the task, but 
not more swiftly than her thoughts. 

So utterly oblivious to all her surroundings was she, 
that the girls who worked with her, thought she was 


HUBBUB. 


71 


proud, and felt above them and the work she was obliged 
to do. 

And they decided to treat her with the same indiffer- 
ence they fancied she had shown them. 

This was all lost on the innocent girl, for when they 
treated her with what they intended for freezing polite- 
ness, she always gave them such a sweet smile and gen- 
tle “thank you” they soon changed their minds. 

Edith was the youngest and smallest girl there, and 
her winning ways soon made her the pet of the 
candy shop. 

Mrs. Able would say, “ People think that my mother 
and Edith are almost perfect, and they give me the repu- 
tation of being cross and ugly ; but they don’t know that 
Edith, with all her sweet ways, has more fire and fury 
wrapped up in her small frame than I have in my little 
finger; let her just get angry once, and the fire just 
flashes out of her eyes, and she makes everything give 
way before her; and my mother, with all her saintly 
looks, is a perfect hurricane when she is angry ; but I 
get all the credit for being ugly, while people think 
mother is a saint and Edith an angel.” 

Edith good naturedly replied, “You know, Mrs. Abel, 
it is other people and not myself who have such a mis- 
taken idea. I believe I am as conscious of my failings 
as any one can be.” 

Then Mrs. Able, having exhausted her wrath, would 
laugh and say, “ You are none too spunky. I never 
liked tame people myself.” 

After Edith’s cousins and aunt learned that she had 


72 


HUBBUB, 


entered a family where she would probably find a perma- 
nent home, they felt they could afford to be friendly with 
her once more. 

Laura wrote her a letter soon after her arrival at Mr. 
Abie’s. 

Edith had tried hard to forget the past, or forgive it if 
she could not forget. 

Thanksgiving Day was a great day with Mr. Hazel, and 
two years after Edith went to live with Mrs. Able, she 
received a most pressing invitation to spend Thanksgiv- 
ing Day with the Hazel family. Come by all means,” 
wrote Laura, “ for we all want to see you. Victoria will 
be home with her husband, and we want you to meet 
him, so don’t say no. Grandma can hardly wait for the 
time to come, she is so anxious to see you, and for her 
sake, if not for ours, you will surely come.” 

Victoria had been married some year before, and at 
this time had forgotten or omitted to send her little 
cousin an invitation to attend the wedding ; but Edith 
had learned the full particulars from Sarah Lane, who 
was present, and had formed, through Sarah’s descrip- 
tion, a very exalted opinion of Victoria’s husband 

Edith decided to accept the invitation, so the night 
before Thanksgiving Day found her once more at Uncle 
Hazel’s. 

Laura greeted her cordially, and seemed jubilant with 
delight at meeting her cousin once more. Aunt Laura 
received her with that serenely placid expression which 
Edith remembered so well. 

Victoria yawned, and said she hoped Edith would ex- 


HUBBUB, 


73 


cuse her from rising, as she was completely exhausted. 
Grandma Hazel, poor old lady, who was now too fee- 
ble to leave her bed, was so glad to see her little pet 
lamb, as she used to call her, that she burst into tears. 
Edith stroked the wrinkled face, and soothed her, until 
she was calm once more. 

Scarcely were the greetings over with Edith, when 
Victoria’s husband arrived. 

Colonel Faber was a noble looking man, a trifle above 
six feet in height, with light brown hair and blue eyes. 
Side whiskers and moustache of a slightly sandy tinge 
suited well to his complexion. 

Victoria languidly rose and received her husband, and 
introduced him to Edith. Colonel Faber took the little 
hand she held out, telling her he was delighted to make 
her acquaintance. 

The next day passed quickly, and somewhat sadly to 
Edith, for poor old Grandma was too sick to sit up, and 
Edith passed much of the time by her bedside. 

A better acquaintance with Colonel Faber made Edith 
v^ry fond of her new cousin, and he seemed equally 
pleased with her. 

With many tears and misgivings Edith took leave of 
Grandma after her short visit was over. 

“ Should Grandma be any worse, you will let me know 
at once, — won’t you. Aunt Laura } ” 

The promise was given promptly, and Edith returned 
home sadly, but feeling sure that she should see Grand- 
ma once more 

It was a stormy day in January , the snow came sift- 


74 


HUBBUB. 


ing down, first in fine flakes, gradually growing larger 
and larger, until the air was full of it. 

‘‘ A despatch for Edith Lyton,” said bustling Mr. Car- 
ter, entering the girl’s room, and lying the yellow envel- 
ope on Edith’s table. 

Every eye was on her, as, with trembling fingers, she 
opened the message and read the few words which told 
her that Grandma was dead, and would be buried at W. 
on the following day. 

Edith bowed her head on the lozenger table before her, 
and burst into a flood of tears. 

The afternoon of the same day found her on her way 
to W. ; reaching there, what was her surprise to find 
that Grandma’s funeral would take place at her uncle’s 
house in H. ; so again she had been forgotten at a 
time when she felt the slight keenly. 

A few of the village people went to the burial-ground, 
to pay the last token of respect to their old friend and 
neighbor, and Edith went with them. 

Mr. Hazel and his wife and Laura followed the 
coffin, the two latter dressed in the deepest mourning, 
with crape veils sweeping nearly to their feet; while 
Edith, the only real mourner at that open grave, 
showed not a symbol of it in her dress. 

“Would you like to look at the remains,” said Mr. 
Hazel, addressing his niece. 

She bowed her head in assent, and he gave orders 
for the coffin to be opened. 

How calmly grandma slept ! and how beautifully she 
looked to Edith, as, with a long, long, lingering look, 


HUBBUB. 75 

she bent over that still form, so still! in the awful hush 
of death. 

For the first time, it occurred to Amos Hazel that it 
was not just the thing for Edith to come to her own 
grandma’s funeral in this way ; for a moment his sister 
Ella’s face came vividly before him, and he felt, for the 
first time since her death, remorse for the neglect he 
had shown her child. 

As the people turned to leave the burial-ground, 
Edith started to go with them ; she had only glanced 
at her relatives once, and now she turned away without 
the slightest recognition. 

Aunt Laura, or her daughter, would not have cared, 
but Amos Hazel did care, and, springing forward, he 
laid his hand on her shoulder and said, Come, Edith, 
you must go home with us ; I want to see you.” 

**Do not ask me. Uncle Hazel ; I really cannot go.” 

Mrs. Hazel said, “ Don’t over-urge her, Amos ; we 
shoiild be pleased to have her go with us if she wishes, 
not otherwise.” 

Just then, an old friend of Edith’s mother, who had 
been listening to the conversation, said gently, “I 
would go if I were you, Edith, your uncle feels so 
badly ; ” and so she entered the carriage and drove 
home with them. 

Alas, how sad the house looked! Edith opened 
grandma’s bible, and tried to find some comfort in 
its sacred pages ; but here a verse was marked, and 
there a word was underlined, by a hand that would 


76 


HUBBUB. 


never move again, and blinding tears hid the com- 
forting words before her. 

Edith left her uncle’s house next day, and returned 
with a sad heart to Mrs. Abie’s. 

That lady was indignant when she learned the full 
particulars relating to grandma’s funeral. Could Aunt 
Laura and her daughter have heard the opinion she 
entertained of them, they would have shrunk immeas- 
urably in their own estimation. 

Mr. Able came home occasionally during the first 
two years Edith was a member of the family; after 
that time, having gained, as he thought, sufficient 
medical skill, he went to a far away town to begin 
practise, and, for the three following years, was away 
from home all the time. 

If there was one thing above another which Mrs. 
Able deemed a great misfortune, it was for a girl to 
remain unmarried at a proper age. 

Although Edith was still young, Mrs. Able viewed 
with displeasure her indifference to all the gentlemen 
who honored her with their attentions. 

‘‘ I never saw such a girl,” she exclaimed, impatiently. 

I would just like to see the man you would fall in love 
with.” 

“ And so should I,” slyly replied Edith. 

Well, you never will,” said Mrs. Able ; who do 
you expect to marry, anyway, Edith ? ” 

“ I expect to be an old maid, if worst comes to 
worst,” she laughingly replied. "‘I shall never marry 


HUBBUB, 77 

just for the sake of having Mrs. on my tombstone, I 
am sure of that.” 

Time passed swiftly away, and Edith reached her 
nineteenth birthday. 

She was born the second day of January, so she 
commenced the new year with another year of her life. 

“ Nineteen years old to-day,” she said, dreamily, 
fingering the leaves of her new diary. 

I was married before I was twenty,” said Mrs. Able. 

“ I guess I shall be many years past twenty before I 
am married, if ever I am,” Edith replied. 

‘‘I don’t know about that,” said Mrs. Able; ‘‘one 
year brings great changes sometimes.” 

Edith still continued to work in the same place, and 
her life was an exceedingly quiet one for a young girl ; 
she seldom went anywhere but to her much-prized 
meetings. Sometimes she would attend a church socia- 
ble, but she invariably came away weary and disgusted ; 
instead of real social gatherings, they were anything 
else. 

The church to which Edith belonged, unfortunately 
for her, and for all the other members, was a house 
divided against itself ; the frequent quarrels and bicker- 
ings in which its members were ever engaging, made 
Edith sick at heart. 

Sometimes she would ask herself if there was any 
such thing as real religion ; then the memory of her 
mother’s life would come to her, so radiant with its 
purity and holiness, that all doubts were hushed for 
the time being. 


78 


HUBBUB, 


Edith often found herself thinking of the little half- 
brother so far away. Soon after her father’s death she 
had received two letters from his widow, and beautiful 
letters they were, full of heart-breaking sorrow for the 
dead, and love for the child now motherless and father- 
less. 

Edith had written once, and then her uncle advised 
her to let the correspondence drop. So, as it was quite 
expensive to send letters there, and Edith had no 
money, she stopped writing. 

But now, as she grew older, her thoughts often 
turned to the little half-brother, who had never known 
a sister’s love, and to his mother, who had once written 
such tender, loving words to her, but, whether living or 
dead, she knew not; finally she decided to write a 
letter to her father’s widow, and send it to the old 
address, trusting to fate in its reaching the one ad- 
dressed. The letter was duly written and sent. 

Days, weeks, and months, passed, bringing no answer, 
until Edith dismissed the matter from her mind, and re- 
membered little Harry and his mother as a dream of 
the past. 


HUBBUB, 


79 


CHAPTER VII. 

PHILIP BURTON. 

Mrs. Able’s house was a large one, and soon after 
Mr. Able left his home to study medicine, his wife was 
constantly beseiged with applicants for furnished rooms. 

The civil war was just at an end, and the little sleepy 
city of S. was waking to an earnest bustling life ; 
business increased so rapidly, that the many people 
flocking there to fill various positions, found it almost 
impossible to find shelter, and were obliged to pay enor- 
mous prices for the same when obtained. 

Thus it was that Mrs. Able, whose purse was not so 
full as it ought to have been, owing to the poor manage- 
ment and long continued demands of her husband, de- 
cided to let furnished rooms. 

It was Fast-day, and even the little birds seemed to 
sing with a subdued twitter. A hush, like that which 
pervades every New England city, on the Sabbath, had 
settled in its refreshing calmness over S. The sol- 
emn tone of the church bells called the inhabitants to 
worship. 

Mrs. Able and Edith were not going to attend church 
this lovely day, but were preparing to take a walk. 

“ Have you seen our new lodger, Edith,” said Mrs. 
Able. 

Yes ; I met him in the hall this morning.” 

‘‘ Don’t you think he is a fine-looking man, Edith ? ” 


So 


HUBBUB. 


I can hardly remember how he looked ; but he was 
very pleasant, and excused himself as we almost run 
against each other.’^ 

“He has a pretty name too, Edith, — Philip Burton, 
— and mother says he looks and appears like her cousin, 
Philip Brown, who met such a tragic death years ago.” 

Edith replied that she hoped Mr. Burton would be 
more fortunate than the one he resembled, and they passed 
on to other subjects, as they commenced their walk. 

After their return home that afternoon. Grandma 
Rushton said, “ Mr. Burton came down stairs and asked if 
I could lend him a book to read. I invited him into the 
library, and he selected Shakespeare. I think he is a 
nice young man ; he talked to me as kindly as if I had 
been his own grandmother.” 

Mrs. Able was tired after her long walk, so, after their 
early supper, she lay down on the sofa and was soon 
fast asleep, while grandma snoozed quietly in her big 
arm-chair. 

Edith left the sleepers for a quiet nap, while she seated 
herself on a low ottoman, in one of the long windows of 
the front parlor. Her nimble fingers flew rapidly, as she 
drew the bright colors in and out of the canvas on 
which she was at work, weaving lovely roses, buds, and 
leaves in her progress. 

The shadows of the coming night were fast making 
farther work impossible, when a light rap at the door 
was quickly answered by Edith, who beheld Mr. Burton, 
with the borrowed book in his hand. 


8i 


HUBBUB. 


Excuse me,” he said, “if I intrude. I called to 
return this volume.” 

You are very excusable,” said Edith ; “I hope you 
have been entertained by it.” 

“ Thank you. I am always entertained when I have 
time and opportunity to read Shakespeare.” 

Edith took the offered volume, and stood waiting to 
close the door upon the intruder ; but Philip Burton 
had no intention of being shut out. 

He was a thorough man of the world, had travelled 
much, and understood human nature well ; his knowl- 
edge of the latter had not made him kind in his judg- 
ment of people generally ; he knew how to please, and 
delighted to do so when he had an object to gain by so 
doing. 

The night after his arrival at Mrs. Abie’s he had seen 
Edith for the first time. Philip Burton could never see 
a pretty face without being more or less attracted in 
that direction. 

On this occasion, he had lingered almost without an 
excuse in Mrs. Abie’s pleasant sitting-room, hoping for 
an introduction to Edith ; but that young lady was busy 
writing in her diary ; she had not given him a look, 
much less a thought. 

Since then, he had seen her several times, but she 
never noticed him ; and each time they met, his desire 
for a better acquaintance increased, until, grown impa- 
tient by the delay, he decided to wait no longer. On 
the morning of this same day he had managed to intro- 


82 


HUBBUB, 


duce himself, by running against her in the hall, and 
apologizing handsomely for the apparent accident. 

Unobserved by her he had seen her, as he entered the 
house a few moments before he rapped at the parlor 
door. 

The quiet dignity of her manner, combined with such 
entire unconsciousness of her own personal charms, 
made her irresistible to this man, who had sneered at 
the word love, and laughed to scorn all belief in woman’s 
purity. 

After a moment’s pause, which would have been ex- 
ceedingly awkward but for Mr. Burton’s ease of man- 
ner, Edith said, “Will you walk in, Mr. Burton t excuse 
for not inviting you before.” 

The invitation was gladly accepted, and soon his easy 
conversation overcame all the embarrassment of the 
occasion. 

Edith learned that Mr. Burton was never in S. 
before, that he was an orphan, had been a captain in the 
army, had but two sisters, of whom he was very fond, 
and furthermore, that he had entered the employ of 
Kellogg and Baxter with the intention of entering the 
firm after six months, if he desired to make S. his 
permanent home. 

On the evening of Fast-day, the pews of the church 
where Edith was a member, were to be rented, and Mrs. 
Able and Edith were going so as to secure their pew. 
As the church bell gave warning that it was time to go, 
Edith said, “It is growing dark, Mr. Burton, will you 
please come into the back parlor with me, and light the 


HUBBUB, 


83 


gas for me? Mrs. Able and Grandma Rushton have 
had quite a nap, and I am sure will feel obliged to us for 
waking them. This is Mr. Burton, Mrs. Able and 
grandma. Here’s a match, Mr. Burton ; you have the 
advantage in being tall, I have to stand on a chair when 
I reach the chandelier.” 

In an instant the room was one blaze of light, and 
Edith, for the first time, took a good look at her visitor, 
and so will we. 

He was a tall man, lacking little of six feet, splendidly 
proportioned, possessing uncommon grace of move- 
ment; his hair was dark and wavy, or seemed to be 
dark, unless the sunshine fell upon it, when it had a red- 
dish tinge all through it ; he had blue eyes, neither 
dark nor light, but full of witchery, and seemed to con- 
ceal in their hidden depths much that Philip Burton, left 
to himself, would never reveal ; a silky moustache 
adorned his lip, which hid partially, but did not conceal 
the scornful curve of the mouth. 

Edith possessed a quick, intuitive knowledge of peo- 
ple she met for the first time, and while she felt a certain 
attraction for this man, she experienced, also, a feeling 
of repulsion, for which she was unable to account. 

After a little general conversation, in which Mrs. Able 
and Grandma Rushton joined, Edith explained to Mr. 
Burton that Mrs. Able and herself would be obliged to 
excuse themselves, to attend the church meeting, but 
added that grandma would be delighted to have his 
company. 


84 


HUBBUB. 


But Mr. Burton gracefully refused, pleading a previous 
engagement, and quickly withdrew. 

“ How do you like Mr. Burton, Edith,” said Mrs. Able. 

“ I like him, and I don’t like him, both.” 

“ What a strange girl you are Edith ; I don’t see any- 
thing to dislike in him, I am sure ; ” and here the matter 
rested for this time. 

The next day, Edith received a note from Mr. Burton, 
very elegantly written and worded, inviting her to at- 
tend a concert with him. 

Edith was vexed at the man’s assurance, and did not 
vouchsafe a reply, for which lack of politeness Mrs. 
Able was vexed. 

“You are the strangest child,” she said ; “ almost any 
girl would be pleased to be noticed by such a gentleman 
as he.” 

“ But,” insisted Edith, “ he is a stranger to me, and I 
do not wish to accept attentions from him until we are 
better acquainted.” 

“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Able; “you will 
never be very well acquainted with him or any other 
man, I fancy. You might have been mistress of your 
own beautiful home, riding to-day in your carriage, in- 
stead of drudging in that old candy shop, if you had 
been guided by me ; but just because Arthur Winslow 
was not quite up to your standard, you threw away as 
good a chance as a girl ever had. 

“ Then there was Ned Bolton, as fine a young man as 
there is in the city of S. or any other city. Poor Ned ! 
he worshipped the ground you walked on, — more fool 


HUBBUB, 


85 


he, — but you could not marry him because you did 
not love him. I think I could bend my love a little when 
it was for my interest to do so. Now here is a man who 
is your equal in all things, your superior in many, but 
you can’t accept attentions from him, because you are 
not acquainted ; but there is no use talking, you will do 
just as you please in spite of me.” 

Edith listened to this long address with conflicting 
emotions ; was she really the worst girl in the world, she 
wondered. In refusing the offers Mrs. Able had alluded 
to, she had acted up to her highest conception of right. 
But then people are so mistaken sometimes when they 
think they are right. 

It had been a most uncomfortable existence to her 
since she entered the candy shop. Mrs. Able looked 
upon work as disgraceful, and was anxious to see Edith 
comfortably settled in a home of her own, where the 
stigma of shop would not attach to her ; others regarded 
the matter in the same light ; so, although Edith was not 
ashamed of her work, or the necessity which compelled 
it, yet she was constantly made to feel degraded by it. 

Edith thought, until the longer she dwelt upon the 
vexatious subject the more completely confused her 
ideas became. ^ 

It was too late now to answer Mr. Burton’s note, but 
she decided to accept his attentions in future should he 
offer them. 

On the following Sunday morning, while Edith was 
preparing for church, Mr. Burton entered the back par- 
lor, and when Edith came in, a half hour later, she 


86 


HUBBUB, 


found him reading the Bible to grandma. He was a fine 
reader, and Edith seated herself quietly and listened. 
Not until the last word was reached did he raise his 
eyes, or in any way recognize her, and then only an in- 
different “good morning, Miss Edith.” Day after day 
passed, and Edith received no especial attention from the 
new lodger; but she listened to his praises unceasingly. 
Grandma Rushton thought him almost perfect. “ Where 
will you find a young man who will sit down as he does, 
and read the Bible and guide to holiness to an old 
woman like me,” she would say. 

Mrs. Able was as fond of him in her way as was grand- 
ma. She made no profession of religion, and was fond of 
attending the theatre. When Mr. Burton became aware 
of this fact, and, further, that she would not refuse his 
escort, he was ready to take her to every new play which 
came to the city. 

After a time he began to show Edith more attention, 
and unbending from his formal politeness treated her 
more as a friend. 

There was one point on which they were perfectly 
congenial, and this was their mutual love of poetry. It 
was Philip Burton who gave Edith the little blue and 
gilt volume, “ Lucille,” and Edith read and dreamed, un. 
til so absorbed was she in her precious book that she 
forgot all outward things, and lived for days in a 
delicious dream. 

Philip laughed, and declared that he was fully prepared 
to see her become a nun, and so their friendship grew. 

The feelings which possessed Edith when she first 


HUBBUB. 


87 


met Mr. Burton, had never left her ; strongly attached 
on the one hand, and repelled on the other. When with 
him, she was magnetized by him into the belief that she 
really cared for him ; and when removed from his perso- 
nal influence, she felt sure that he was nothing, and never 
could be anything, to her. 

One day they wandered out for a walk. He was 
strangely tender, and Edith felt dimly that her life was 
hardly the tame one it had been before she met him. 

To a lovely little spot, on the bank of the noble river 
which bordered one side of the city, they bent their 
steps. Edith seated herself on the moss-covered trunk 
of a tree, which lay just where it had fallen some years 
before, while Philip threw himself on the grass at her 
feet. 

He talked of home, and father and mother long 
since dead, and his voice grew low and tremulous when 
he recalled recollections of his mother. This was a ten- 
der point with Edith, for her mother’s name was ever a 
charmed word to her. 

Her face, always so full of the thoughts behind it, 
looked angelic to Philip Burton as the deep and tender 
eyes, so misty with their tears, shone softly upon him. 

It is true he had laughed at love, and believed nothing 
in it; but just then, he felt that he would give all the 
world for Edith Lyton’s love. 

And so he told her of his mother, of her death, of his 
reckless life since then, and told her, too, of his mad wor- 
shipful love for her ; ever since his eyes fell upon her, 
he had loved her, and when he found that she met his 




88 HUBBUB. 

advances coldly, he had tried to forget her, or conquer 
his love, and how all in vain had been the struggle. 

He told her his whole future life was in her hands for 
weal or woe, and begged her, as she valued a human 
soul, to stoop from her pure height and save him. 

His earnestness frightened her. Rising slowly she 
said, “ Take me home, Mr. Burton, I am sick.” 

“ No, Edith, no. You must not, you shall not leave me 
like this. I must and will have my answer. I do not 
ask you to love me, only be my wife. I will win your 
love through all the long years which stretch beyond. 
Oh, trust me darling ! you are the one love of my life ; 
no other man could love you as I do ; no one could 
shield you from every care and trouble as I will. It is 
not your form and face that I love so intensely, but the 
pure, earnest soul which looks at me every time you 
raise your beautiful eyes to mine. 

Edith, with one arm round a tree, was leaning against 
it for support. She had never witnessed anything like 
this before, and her whole nature was roused with conflict- 
ing emotions as she beheld this strong man’s agony. 

At length he noticed her distress, and said very gently, 
Forgive me, darling, I have frightened you ; I should 
have been more careful ; speak to me, little girl. Did 
you say you were sick, and ask me to take you home ? 

“ I am so bewildered, Philip.” 

This was the first time she had ever called him by that 
name, and it sounded like music to his ears. 

“I don’t wonder you are bewildered, child,” he said, 
as he gently drew her towards him. “ Look up, pet, 


HUBBUB. 89 

see ! I am calm, and will be for your sake ; but tell 
me Edith, is there no hope ?” 

She slowly raised her eyes to his face, as she said, 
do not feel as you do ; I hardly think I love you.” 

‘‘ I do not expect you to feel as I do ; I do not wish it ; 
only promise me that sometime in the blessed future, 
you will be my wife.” 

There was silence so long that Philip Burton could 
distinctly count the throbbings of his own heart before 
she spoke again. At last she said. 

“ I don’t know what to say, Philip. Should I promise 
to be your wife, I feel I should be doing wrong, — very 
wrong.” 

“ Well, you can promise this, little one ; if you never 
see any one you love any better than you love me, you 
will do as I wish.” 

“Yes, Philip, I can promise that, but it seems as if 
you were giving so much, and getting almost nothing.” 

“If I am satisfied, you surely need not complain, 
darling.” 

And so Edith’s engagement commenced. Edith told 
Mrs. Able of her conditional promise, and added, “ I 
fear I have done very wrong.” 

“Pshaw!” said Mrs. Able; “I will risk its being 
wrong ; if you become sick of your bargain, it is the 
easiest thing in the world to break your engagement.” 

Edith felt ill at ease ; and now that she was removed 
from the wonderful magnetism of Philip Burton’s pres- 
ence, she was frightened at the step she had taken. 

Long after Mrs. Able was quietly sleeping, Edith tried 


90 


HUBBUB. 


vainly to look her future in the face, and to determine its 
probable or possible ending : but the future was a sealed 
book, and like Peter of old, she seemed to be walking on 
a sea of uncertainty and doubt, and as the waves threat- 
ened her destruction, she cried out as the apostle did. 
Lord save me, or I perish.” 

Edith was, indeed, launched on a tempestuous sea 
when she promised conditionally to be Philip Burton’s 
wife. 

He was naturally of a jealous disposition, and now 
that he possessed some claim on Edith, he was a perfect 
tyrant. If a gentleman showed her the slightest atten- 
tion, he visited the offence upon poor Edith’s head with 
unceasing reproof At length this became unendurable, 
and after a long, fierce dispute over some trifling thing, 
Edith told him clearly that henceforth she cancelled all 
former promises, and hereafter they would be friends* 
and nothing more. 

Then followed such a storm of passion as Edith 
never before had witnessed; but she stood firm. 

A few days passed, during which Edith and Philip 
did not meet. Mrs. Able was loud in her sympathy for 
Philip. 

“ Poor fellow ! ” she said, “you ought not to treat him 
so, Edith ; he is almost crazy.” 

“ Treat him how ? ” said Edith. 

“ You know what I mean, Edith. You two have had 
some trouble, there is no use denying it.” 

“ I do not deny it,” said Edith. 

They met again ; Philip was all sorrow for the past 


HUBBUB. 


91 


and promised anything, everything, for the future, but 
Edith refused to enter into the engagement again. 
After long hours of struggling against his love and 
misery, worn out by his persistency, she yielded. 

The following day Philip placed a beautiful ring upon 
her finger, saying as he did so, “ This seals you mine 
forever, darling ; not conditionally, Edith, but entirely ; 
promise me.” 

Edith was fast learning to fear her impetuous lover, 
and to dread, beyond everything else, his anger. So she 
gave the promise, feeling, as she did so, that she was 
fast drifting from all that seemed worth living for. 

For a time he seemed satisfied, and loved his idol 
more rapturously than ever ; and, as Edith yielded more 
and more to his tyranny to avoid trouble, everything 
went more smoothly. 

Philip desired a speedy marriage, and the faint hope 
Edith had never relinquished that some unforeseen 
event would occur to prevent her from being Philip 
Burton’s wife, died away. She began to feel a certain 
apathy steal over her; she had struggled long and 
hard against the fate impending, and this was the 
reaction. 

When Philip talked of being married on Edith’s 
birthday, two months from the present time, Edith 
hardly raised an objection, and Mrs. Able agreed with 
Philip, that this would be a desirable arrangement. 

So the matter was decided, and Edith left the old 
candy-shop, where she had passed so many sad as well 
as happy hours, and began to make preparations for her 
wedding. 


92 


HUBBUB. 


To her heavy heart it seemed more like the sadness 
connected with a funeral, than the joyous notes of the 
marriage bells. 

Philip was as devoted as a lover could be ; when he 
was by her side she felt that she loved him, that he 
was necessary to her happiness. 

About this time he changed his residence, going to 
the city of H. to live, and Edith was left more and 
more to herself during the few weeks preceding her 
marriage ; but the hurry and bustle attending this 
great event of her life could not crowd out many sad 
forebodings from her mind. 

Sarah Lane had been married some years before this, 
and had sacrificed all the noblest instincts of her 
womanhood on the shrine of wealth and position; she 
had learned since then to measure people by the length 
of their pocket-books, or the height of their social 
standing. 

The last time she was at Mrs. Abie’s, Edith’s approach- 
ing marriage was discussed, and Sarah said,#' Now Edith, 
if you don’t let me know when the wedding comes off, 
I will never forgive you.” 

It was Edith’s wish for a quiet wedding, but Mrs 
Able wanted to invite their friends, and have a social 
time ; so the latter plan was decided upon. 

Edith’s cousins did not find it convenient to come, 
and Sarah Lane sent her regrets ; so, like the supper of 
old, we read of in the Bible, "those who should have 
been nearest and dearest to her, at this interesting 
period of her life, began to make excuses.” 


HUBBUB. 


93 


Edith’s wedding-day was cloudless ; a mantle of snow 
covered the whole earth, and softly nestled in the 
branches of the trees and shrubs. How pure and spot- 
less God’s great world appeared, as Edith raised her 
curtain and looked out upon it. 

Twenty years old to-day ! how much had transpired 
since one short year ago, when she watched from this 
same window a grand old snow-storm, and wondered 
what the fresh new year would bring her ; and it had 
brought so much; she leaned her head against the 
window-sash, and tried to realize the whole of the new 
position in which she found herself, but all in vain; 
naught but chaos and confusion filled her brain. 

Sinking upon her knees beside her bed, where she 
had so often prayed before, she tried to pray, but all 
was blackness ; she tried to ask God’s blessing on the 
strange and doubtful future, but the heavens seemed 
like brass, and no light came. 

Her bewildered reflections were cut short by the 
energetic voice of Mrs. Able. 

Come, Edith child, where are you ? breakfast has 
been ready for the last half hour. I never knew you to 
be so late before.” 

''This is a perfect day for your wedding-day,” said 
grandma, as Edith entered the room. " If your life is 
as beautiful as this day, you will be very happy.” 

A little present was left at the door for Edith, that 
morning, in the shape of a lovely handkerchief-box. 
Enclosed, was a neatly^folded sheet of paper, on the 
outside of which was written, the compliments of the 


94 


HUBBUB, 


giver ; unfolding it, she read with delight the following 
beautiful poem, written expressly for her : — 

TO EDITH OVER THE WAT, 

ON HER WEDDING DAY. 

“ ’Tis a fair and childish brow, 

Wreathed with bridal flowers now 
And a serious, timid grace 
Seems to gather on the face ; 

For the solemn words are spoken, 

Never, trust we, to be broken. 

Blessings on thee, bonny bride. 

Prayers and blessings multiplied ; 

Sacred promise, holy vow. 

Each to each ye’ve given now; 

Vowed to honor, love, and cherish, 

Till this changeful life shall perish. 

Trusting, loyal little wife! 

Farewell now the girlish life! 

Farewell all its childish joys, — 

All that maiden thought employs ! 

With another’s fate is blended 
Thine, henceforth, till fate is ended. 

No foreboding, doubt, or fear, 

. Clouds for thee the blithe New Year; 

Be it fraught with weal or woe. 

Smiles or tears, we may not know; 

Yet we tenderly confide thee. 

To the strong, fond heart beside thee. 

May this tender new relation 
Make all happy compensation 
For the loss of father, mother, 

Grentle sister, loving brother. 


HUBBUB. 


95 


And the husband be to you 
Ever noble, good, and true. 

Heaven’s eternal care be o’er thee, 

Whatsoever be before thee ! 

Angel’s fold their wings above thee, 

And the good Lord ever love thee; 

And a happy useful life. 

Crown the bride a perfect wife.” 

Tears filled Edith’s eyes as she finished the last 
word, and, bowing her head in her hand, she said amen 
to the loving words. 

The ceremony was to take place at eight o’clock, 
and the whole day was filled with the hurry and bustle 
of preparation. 

Very lovely Edith looked in her bridal robes ; her 
shining brown hair was arranged in puffs, and lovely 
flowers fastened the cobweb veil to her head ; long, 
shimmering folds of soft blue silk encircled her grace- 
ful form, and gave a look of almost etherial loveliness 
to her fair face. 

Edith hardly heard the solemn words of the minister, 
until the awful, irrevocable, I pronounce you husband 
and wife,” rung out upon her ears, making her start 
and shudder. 

The congratulations quickly followed the prayer, and 
a strange thrill passed through her frame, as the minister 
wished them joy, and introduced them to the company 
as Mr. and Mrs. Burton. 

Then came the supper, and after that the travelling- 
dress and good-byes ; and Edith found herself in the 
swiftly moving cars, seated by Philip Burton’s side, 
bound for her new life. 


96 


HUBBUB. 


Very tender was the new husband of his fairy wife. 
‘‘Poor little girl!” he said, “it has been a very hard, 
exciting day for her, now she shall rest. You are all 
my own, darling, my precious little wife I No one can 
ever come between us now ; thank God for that ! ” 

The same powerful attraction she had ever felt for 
Philip Burton was around her now, like a spell, stronger 
than any feeling of repulsion she had ever felt ; she 
nestled closer to his side, and felt a certain satisfaction 
in his love. 

So Edith entered the mystical relations of her new 
life. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A WRETCHED LIFE. 

Six months have passed since the events recorded in 
our last chapter. Edith’s life since then has been one 
whirl of trouble and excitement. 

But one short month after her marriage, she had 
learned the dreadful truth, that her husband was a gam- 
bler and a drunkard. She would start like a frightened 
fawn when his quick, restless step fell on her ear ; for 
she could not foretell in what condition he would meet 
her, when, at the midnight hour, or later still, he re- 
turned to his poor girl-wife who waited so anxiously for 
him. 

Intoxicating drink did not cause Philip Burton to 


HUBBUB. 


97 


stagger, but it made him as ugly and heartless as a fiend. 
Edith had learned to make no opposition to him 
when in this state, for it was worse than useless. 

They had begun life in a fashionable boarding-house 
in the city of H — , where Philip held a good position. 
Bnt his fast, reckless life soon unfitted him for busi- 
ness, and he lost his situation. 

Mrs. Able, learning of his dissipated life, regretted 
that she had influenced the marriage, and tried to cover 
her own want of judgment, by throwing the blame 
upon Edith. She wrote a letter to Mr. Able, telling him 
of Philip’s reckless life, and added that she had done 
her utmost to save Edith from such a marriage, but her 
efforts had been unavailing, and Edith had no one to 
blame but herself, whatever her future might be. 

She made these same statements to her own and to 
Edith’s friends, but failed to make them believe the cow- 
ardly falsehood ; for most of their friends knew of the 
intimacy existing between Mrs. Able and Mr. Burton, 
and many of them had listened again and again to her 
glowing praises of him. 

Edith’s cup was full ; it was hard to suffer for another’s 
folly; this she had borne in silence. 

During the few weeks Edith spent with Mrs. Able 
after Philip lost his position in H — Mrs. Able said to 
her one day, Edith, don’t ever dare say that I influ- 
enced your marriage.” 

This was more than human endurance could bear, 
and Edith replied with flashing eyes, “ Mrs. Able, I have 
never said one word to you or to anyone about this mat- 


98 


HUBBUB. 


ter, but if you goad me to it, I will tell you just what I 
think of you, and of the whole affair.” 

Mrs. Able knew that she was treading on dangerous 
ground, and dared not reply. Soon after this conversa- 
tion, Philip secured a position in W., and sent for Edith. 

He was jubilant with delight to have his little wife 
with him once more. Edith had never been in this city 
before, and she was charmed with the lovely view from 
their window. On the window-sill sat a beautiful rose- 
bush, in full bloom, the fragrance of which filled the 
dingy room. “ I knew you were fond of flowers, pet,” 
he said, “ so I brought this home yesterday.” 

The room was a striking contrast to the pleasant home 
she had so long enjoyed with Mrs. Able. It was an 
attic chamber, with slanting ceiling, formed to accommo- 
date the shape of the roof The furniture consisted of a 
small stand, covered with a scrupulously white spread, 
over which hung an old-fashioned mirror; a cheap bed- 
stead, two chairs, and a large, hospitable-looking rocking- 
chair, completed the furniture. 

Edith had glanced with dismay upon this uncomprom- 
ising apartment, when her quick eye for the beautiful 
discovered the lovely plant ; and soon the magnificent 
view from her lofty window, dissipated all thoughts of 
the room and its occupants. Gazing through the sway- 
ing branches of the trees, which cast their shadows on 
her face, far away, over houses, streets, and people, she 
could see the loveliest green fields, and, farther still 
were mountain ranges, on whose steep sides grew trees 
of almost endless variety of kind and color. 


HUBBUB. 


99 


And ever after the first moment when Edith stood 
entranced before this lovely prospect, this window was 
her delight ; many a heart ache was soothed, many a 
longing was hushed to rest by the beauty of this scene. 

A few weeks passed, during which time Edith’s hus- 
band lost no opportunity of making her wretched, until 
her life seemed unendurable, and she determined to 
make a desperate effort to free herself from Philip 
Burton. With this in view she addressed a letter to her 
cousin, Victoria Faber, who was passing some time at 
her father’s home in H. Victoria promptly answered 
the letter, and promised to aid her in an attempt to 
escape from her terrible life, and even enclosed a few 
dollars which she hoped would help her carry forward 
her determination. 

At last all plans being arranged, Edith went to Mrs. 
Tyler, the lady who rented them the room that they 
occupied, and made known her intention of leaving W. 

Yes,” she said, tremulously, “ I am going to leave my 
husband. I had thought to go without saying a word 
to you, but your kindness has touched me deeply, and I 
could not bear to go without expressing my gratitude 
for it.” 

Mrs. Tyler was a thoroughly good woman, and she 
knew more of Philip Burton and bis wicked career than 
Edith supposed, and was not much surprised that Mrs. 
Burton could endure such a life no longer ; so she said, 
' Never mind telling me more, Mrs. Burton. I under- 
stand it all. God bless you, wherever you may go,” and 
tears fell from this good woman’s eyes as she kissed 
Edith good-by. 


100 


HUBBUB. 


When Philip entered his room, on the day of Edith’s 
departure, he was surprised to find no Edith, and noth- 
ing belonging to her. A little note lay on the table, 
and eagerly opening it he read, — 

I am leaving you forever, Philip ; do not seek to 
bring me back; remember, if the past has resulted so 
terribly for us both, the future could be no better. Only 
yesterday you said you no longer loved me, surely then 
you cannot wish me near you. You will find my wed- 
ding and engagement rings lying beside this note ; do as 
you please with them. I shall never wear them again. 
And so, farewell. Forgive me that I could not hold you 
to a higher, better life, and think sometimes kindly of 
your most unhappy wife, 

'‘Edith Burton,” 

Philip Burton was wild with excitement ; he would 
find her, or failing to do so, he would blow his brains 
out, and end his wretched life ; and calling the help of a 
detective he endeavored to find his wife. 

Long before Philip’s eyes perused this note, Edith 
was on her way to H. It seemed to her over-strung 
nerves that the cars never moved so slowly before ; but 
at length the tiresome journey was accomplished, and 
she reached her destination. Victoria informed her, as 
soon as she had removed her things, that she was too 
sensitive to hear about her troubles ; that her nerves 
were not equal to it ; and Edith kept silent, although it 
seemed as if her heart would break. 


HUBBUB. 


lOl 


Hardly had the shades of night begun to gather, 
when Philip Burton rang the bell at Mr. Hazel’s house. 

At first, Edith refused to see him, but her Uncle 
Hazel becoming exhausted with his importunity, asked 
Edith to come into the room. 

The meeting between Philip and Edith was exceed- 
ingly trying to her ; after listening patiently to all he 
had to say, she replied, ‘‘Philip, I have borne much, 
very much since I became your wife ; when I decided 
to leave you, it was a decision you forced upon me, and 
I consider it final.” 

Philip plead with all the eloquence he could com- 
mand. At last, worn out with his strong will, Edith 
appealed to Uncle Hazel. 

Amos Hazel cleared his throat with much decision, 
and gave it as his profound conviction that it was a sol- 
emn thing to get married, and consequently a very seri- 
ous thing to break a marriage contract. “ In this case, 
Edith, I think it is your duty to give your husband one 
more trial ; but,” he continued, looking fixedly at Philip, 
“I knew Edith’s mother and father before her, and 
remember, if she ever has cause to take this step again, 
she will abide by it, and you will not have power to 
change her decision.” 

Philip promised that never in the future should Edith 
have cause to regret returning to him. 

It was no small trial to one of Edith’s sensitive na- 
ture to return to W. with the stigma of runaway wife 
attached to her ; but she stifled her feelings and braved 
the matter through. 


102 


HUBBUB. 


Edith was the observed of all on the following even- 
ing, when she took her place at the supper-table. 

Mrs. Waldo, the woman who kept the boarding-house 
where they took their meals, was one of Mr. Burton’s 
ardent admirers ; when this lady learned that Mrs. Bur- 
ton had left her husband, she was on a pinnacle of excite- 
ment as to the possible cause. She called on Mrs. Tyler 
who lived across the street, to ascertain if possible, 
more concerning Mrs. Burton and her hasty departure. 

“ What can the foolish child be thinking of,” she ex- 
claimed, looking over the tops of her glasses ; but he 
can bring her back, and I hope he will ; to think of her 
leaving such a man as he is ; why, Mrs. Tyler, there is 
not a gentleman at my table who begins to treat his wife 
with the attention Mr. Burton shows her ; if she ever 
does come back, I shall ask her all about it.” 

Mrs. Waldo had rattled on so fast, that Mrs. Tyler 
could not get in a word edgeways ; at this point she 
stopped for want of breath. 

Mrs. Tyler quietly said, “ I do not know what Mrs. 
Burton’s reasons for leaving her husband were, but I 
believe she had sufficient reason ; she is not the mere 
child you take her for, and I am sure if she returns, and 
you interfere in any way with her business, she will 
resent it.” 

Mrs. Waldo cleared her throat with a significant 
“ ahem ! ” and departed. 

That good lady was eagerly watching when Mr. and 
Mrs. Burton took their usual seats at her table ; she gave 
Mrs. Burton a scrutinizing glance from behind her shin- 


HUBBUB. 


103 


ing spectacles, but, save that Edith was very pale, she 
could detect no change in her ; for she was as quietly 
self-possessed as if nothing had happened, while Philip 
Burton was his same easy self. 

The six weeks which followed were such delightful 
ones to Edith that she never forgot them, and she begun 
to hope that she might yet be very happy. 

There were no more of the old weary nights of watch- 
ing for a step that long delayed its coming. They read 
together, and took long, delightful walks after Philip’s 
work was over. 

Alas, for Edith’s short-lived happiness! Philip soon 
found this life too tame for him, and plunged even deeper 
into vice and strong drink. 

The Hazel family decided that Edith, with her fast 
accumulating troubles, was not a desirable relative to 
possess, so their letters were short and far between. 
Mrs. Able wrote an occasional letter, sometimes indif- 
ferent and sometimes affectionate, just as the spirit 
moved her. 

Mrs. Tyler, at whose house Edith continued to room, 
was her fast friend. Mrs. Burton never spoke of her 
troubles, but Mrs. Tyler was not blind ; once Edith bore 
the mark of her husband’s hand across her cheek for 
hours ; this did not escape the quick eye of Mrs. Tyler, 
who mentioned the matter to Mr. Tyler, who was so 
incensed that he wanted to wreak vengeance on the head 
of the offender with his own strong fist ; but his more 
prudent wife saw the folly of such an exposure, and per- 
suaded her husband to let the matter rest. 


104 


HUBBUB. 


Edith often sat alone in her dreary little room, trying 
at times to read her bible ; but her over-burdened brain 
refused to comprehend its sacred words : reverently lay- 
ing the book down, she would bow her weary head on 
her clasped hands, and try to pray, but the whirl of ter- 
rible thoughts surging over her, seemed to drown in 
their turmoil the petition she vainly tried to offer. 

Long she would remain kneeling, unconscious of the 
passing time, until, cramped and benumbed, she would 
rise, and with an almost insane light in her flashing eyes, 
would pace the room ; finally her weary limbs would 
stop their tiresome march, sinking down by the open 
window, to watch and wait until some passing footfall 
made her start in terror, and she knew not which she 
dreaded most, to hear him coming, or to wait for him. 

At last he’s coming, and how ? — drunk or sober — 
kind or ugly ? his hand is on the latch ; she has forgot- 
ten in this moment of terror to unfasten the door ; with 
oath after oath he kicks against it; her trembling fin- 
gers turn the key, and Philip Burton crosses the thresh- 
old ; his eyes are bloodshot and his face is red and 
bloated. The first word he utters to the trembling girl 
before him is an oath which makes her blood curdle ; 
after upbraiding her in the most profane language for 
sins of which her pure soul was as guiltless as an infant, 
he sinks into a drunken slumber. 

When the morning dawns, Philip Burton awakes. 
This heavy, unrefreshing sleep leaves him in no agreea- 
ble mood, and woe unto the little wife if she offends the 
brute she calls her husband. 


HUBBUB. 


105 


Day after day of sorrow, night after night of wretched- 
ness, have made fierce inroads on Edith’s health. 

About this time she formed the acquaintance of a 
lady and her husband by the name of Wallace ; this new 
friendship was in a measure her salvation, for although 
Mrs. Wallace and Edith never exchanged a word con- 
cerning any personal matter, Mrs. Wallace was a keen- 
sighted woman and knew more than Edith would have 
been willing to believe. 

In this lady’s pleasant little home Edith was ever a 
welcome guest; here she found just the reaction from 
care and trouble she so much needed. 

Mrs. Wallace was full of fun, ever ready with a witty 
answer, and Edith, who possessed a keen sense of the 
ridiculous, laughed almost as heartily at some of Mrs. 
Wallace’s witticisms, as if her own life was not clothed 
in sackcloth and ashes. 

One day Mrs. Wallace called on Edith to invite her 
to take a walk with her. 

Philip Burton was at home, for he had given up all 
business, and was openly living the life of a gambler ; 
he vainly tried to frame some excuse to keep his wife at 
home, but Mrs. Wallace was not easily baffled. “ Come 
Mr. Burton,” she said, there’s no use in talking, your 
wife is going out with me. You ought to be obliged to 
me for getting her out ; she is as pale as a ghost ; 
everybody notices it but you.” So Philip said no more, 
and many a delightful walk they enjoyed in each others 
society. 

One winter day as Edith and Mrs. Wallace were walk- 


io6 


HUBBUB. 


ing through Main street, they descried Philip Burton 
dashing towards them with an elegant turnout ; seated 
by his side was a brazen courtesan who, unknown to 
Edith, was well-known by reputation to Mrs. Wallace. 

Philip Burton met the eye of Mrs. Wallace for an in- 
stant as he dashed by, met her reproving glance un- 
flinchingly, with merely a shade' of vexation on his 
handsome face. 

Edith said quickly “ I wonder who that lady is ? ” 

Mrs. Wallace replied dryly “ I am not acquainted with 
her ! ” Here the subject dropped. 

That night Edith asked him who the lady was, and he 
explained by saying it was a lady customer of his who 
he chanced to meet, and she invited him to ride. 

Edith did not question further, nor did she for one 
moment believe this plausible story. 

Not long after this, Philip Burton came dashing into 
their room in the mad, furious way he always came, 
when he had been drinking. His head was badly cut, 
and from the wound the blood had dripped all over the 
light overcoat he wore, and with his white, blood-stained 
face he made a ghastly picture. 

With a frightful oath he told Edith that he had been 
in a fight, and ordered her to help him at once. But 
Edith was motionless as a statue : again he spoke his 
commands in the most infamous language. Slowly, but 
with such stony firmness that even he was half-sobered 
by it, she answered, “I did not marry a prize-fighter; 
and when you get hurt in a fight, you may bind up your 
wounds as best you can, for I never will.” 


HUBBUB. 


107 


“ Come, Edith,” he said more gently, “ I have not 
been in a fight ; don’t you know how to take a joke ? I 
fell on the confounded ice out here and nearly split my 
head open ; now will you help me ? ” 

Edith did as he requested, but in her heart she be- 
lieved that his first statement was correct, as indeed it 
was. 

Never since her marriage had she been recognized by 
Mr. Burton’s -relatives, and she often wondered at their 
apparent rudeness towards her. Philip was ever loud in 
his praises of his sisters. Edith had met them once a 
few months previous to her marriage, when Mrs. Able, 
Philip, and herself had taken a short trip to the city of 
Lawrence, where they lived, and spent the day with 
them. 

They were ladies that any brother might be proud 
to acknowledge, and Edith had longed for a better 
acquaintance. 

The younger of his sisters was a sweet little creature, 
very unlike her tall, broad-shouldered brother. Her 
husband was a distinguished lawyer ; they had no 
children, but were devotedly attached to each other. 

Mrs. Bradford, the elder sister, was the mother of two 
little girls, Nellie and Jennie by name, who were as 
fond of their Uncle Philip, as if he had been their own 
father. 

Edith could not understand why they should treat 
her with such unmerited neglect. Could she have 
known that, for reasons of his own, Philip Burton had 


io8 


HUBBUB, 


kept the fact of his marriage a secret, she would have 
wondered no more. 

The small city of W. soon became too tame for 
Philip Burton, so he decided to go to New York, while 
Edith made Mrs. Able a little visit, until he should be- 
come settled and send for her. 

Mrs. Able and grandma were very glad to have her 
with them once more ; indeed, the old house had been 
fearfully lonesome since her gay laugh last awoke its 
echoes. 

It was the last visit Edith ever made them, and was 
•in all respects a delightful one to them all. 

Mrs. Able was disgusted, when a telegram arrived 
from Philip, desiring Edith to join him on the ensuing 
day in New York. 

Edith had a distant cousin by the name of Ina Reeves. 
When Edith was a baby girl, Ina had lived with her 
mother, and her earliest recollections were blended with 
memories of this young girl. 

Years passed away, and all traces of Ina Reeves had 
disappeared, until a few months previous to Edith’s mar- 
riage, when she learned of Ina’s marriage, that her 
name was Thornly, and that she lived in Brooklyn. 

Philip had often heard Edith speak of Ina, and her 
desire to meet her, so when he reached New York he 
crossed to Brooklyn, and after a little search, found the 
long-lost Ina. He decided to let the matter remain a se- 
cret, and surprise his wife ; and it was indeed a surprise. 

Edith made Ina a visit, and then Philip secured a 
boarding place in New York, and again Edith began 


HUBBUB. 109 

the old weary life of waiting and watching ! of hoping 
and praying! 

One day, after they had been living in this way for a 
month, Philip came home early in the afternoon, and to 
Edith’s inquiry replied, — 

“I have lost my situation.” 

“ How did it happen, Philip ? ” she asked. 

“ Well, I was trimming the window as usual, and I 
happened to fall from the box on which I was standing. 
The proprietor came along, and said, ‘ I don’t wish for 
your services any longer ; ’ he would not hear to reason, 
but paid me off at once.” 

“ What are we to do now, Philip,” said Edith. 

“ Starve, I guess,” grimly responded Philip. 

Edith was almost hysterical, and leaning back in her 
chair, she laughed as if the prospect of starving to 
death was one of the most laughable things in the world. 

“ I tell you, Edith, I wish I had never asked you to 
come back to me, at the time you left in that mean, 
cowardly way ; what a consummate fool I was ! If you 
ever go again, remember you can stay and welcome.” 

It was an almost daily occurrence of late for him to 
talk in this way, so Edith scarcely noticed the insults he 
heaped upon her. 

Suddenly she interrupted him with, “ Philip, I have 
an idea,” — the energy of her manner surprised him 
into silence — “if I will go to work and earn money 
enough to get away from you, will you let me go } ” 

“ Will I let you go ? have I not told you I should hail 
with joy anything which could separate us ? ” 


no 


HUBBUB, 


Edith’s face was one glow of delight ; she would free 
herself from this degrading life ! she would cast off the 
name of Burton and be simply Edith Lyton once more ! 
So charmed was she with thoughts of liberty, she did 
not notice the fiendish expression of Philip Burton’s 
face, as the fact began to dawn upon him that his vic- 
tim could escape from him. Once Edith would have 
cried when he tortured her in this way, but he was los- 
ing entirely his power to please or vex her : with one 
mighty effort he roused himself, and called her profanely 
the vilest name a man can call a woman ; for one 
moment she stood transfixed ; her face was ashy white, 
while her eyes were black with concentrated passion. 
She sprang toward him like an infuriated tigress. 

“ Philip Burton, you have gone too far,” she said in a 
hoarse murmur. “ I will bear no more ; I will rid the 
world of such a monster.” 

Hardly had the words escaped her lips, when, quick 
as lightning, he raised his hand and dealt a blow which 
felled her to the floor. In another moment he was 
bending over her still form begging her to speak to him. 
“ Edith I did not mean to do it ; indeed I did not.” 

Slowly she opened her eyes again, to behold the white 
and frightened face of her husband bending over her. 
The last remnant of respect she had ever felt for the 
man was gone forever. She loathed and despised him ! 
The matter was decided that Edith was to find employ- 
ment and earn money enough to leave him. She made 
him swear, by all that he held most sacred, that he 
would in no way interfere with her going. The next 


HUBBUB. 


Ill 


difficulty was to obtain work. Edith was far from well ; 
this long continued strain was telling painfully upon 
her delicate organization. Day after day she sought 
for work, going from one lofty attic to another, but 
the desired position was not found, until she had walked 
her only pair of shoes nearly off her feet. 

“ What shall I do now,” thought Edith, as the sole 
entirely separated from the upper, and only held by the 
heel. A shoemaker soon fastened it on with a few pegs, 
and Edith was once more in a walking condition. She 
felt so discouraged she was almost ready to lie down 
and die, when she found a place to make silk fringe. It 
was a new business to her, and the loudly-whirling 
machinery made her head ache sadly ; but she perse- 
vered, and the first day succeeded in making seventy-five 
cents. On the second day as she was preparing to go to 
work ; the same unfortunate shoe ripped entirely across 
the foot ; here was a dilemma, for as she had no money, 
she must invent some way to repair the worn shoe ; so 
she seated herself, with a large needle and coarse linen 
thread, and sewed the rip as neatly as she could. 
Every day the shoe ripped out afresh, and each day was 
duly repaired by our unhappy little friend. 

Some days she was so sick, that her tired feet almost 
refused to carry her the long distance she was obliged 
to go to reach the fringe shop ; but she never faltered 
until she was the possessor of the small sum of six dol- 
lars, this she placed in her trunk for safety, and made 
known her intention of leaving her husband at once. 
Philip Burton said nothing, but left the house soon after, 


12 


HUBBUB, 


and Edith discovered with dismay that the key to her 
trunk was gone also. All through the long hours of that 
day she waited impatiently for his return. At last he 
came, and Oh, so drunk, that it was with difficulty that 
Edith ascertained that the key to her trunk was in his 
pocket, and her money had gone to buy the liquor which 
now stupefied his brain and body. She said nothing 
but sat down in hopeless agony to consider what to do. 
The room became unbearable to her, the stillness of 
which was broken only by the heavy breathing of that 
thing upon the bed, which bore the image of a man. 

Hastily throwing on her hat and shawl, she crept 
from the room very softly ; on she went rushing along 
with the busy multitude ; it was the verge of evening, 
and the big city was all astir with life ; merry children 
passed her, joyous in their untamed spirits, and the man 
of business, anxious to rest his tired body by his own 
loved fireside, jostled her in the crowd : then a wretched 
beggar held out her shrivelled hand for help. A busy, 
changing scene surrounded her, turn which way she 
might. 

Not caring where she went, she staggered blindly for- 
ward, impelled by the terrible pain at her heart, until 
she found herself at Grand street ferry; should she 
cross it? She had a few pennies and, they might as 
well go this way as any ; so, elbowing her way through 
the crowd, she reached the farther end of the boat, and 
leaning against the railing, looked longingly and fear- 
fully into the dark, black water. Something whispered 
in her ear, ‘‘ Do it ; it will take but a few moments, and 


HUBBUB. 


II3 

then all will be over. You will never suffer any more. 
You will never be misjudged again ; every one will speak 
kindly of you, when you are dead ; even strangers will 
speak softly when they look upon your calm,, still face. 

Then turning her eyes from the dreadful water, she 
raised them to the star-lit sky, and tried to pray. Her 
mother seemed once more to bend in benediction o’er 
her head ; and, with this soft and holy influence, the hot 
tears rained from her stony eyes ; the ice of doubt and 
desperation melted from her heart, and she was saved. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE SHADOW. 

Mrs. Worthy, the lady of whom Philip Burton hired 
a furnished room, was worthy by name and by nature ; 
she was a mother, too, and the glory of motherhood had 
brought into action all the sweetest, noblest instincts of 
her gentle nature ; she could never see any little, unpro- 
tected thing without longing to shield it. 

Edith was sick, very sick, she had returned from that 
long and troubled walk completely exhausted, and lying 
down beside that still, slumbering piece of humanity 
called a man, but bearing little resemblance to one, 
Edith tried to sleep, but all in vain; strange visions 
floated through her head'; she was a little girl once 
more, and it was her mother’s gentle hand that smoothed 


HUBBUB. 


1 14 

the tangled masses of hair from her hot brow ; again, it 
seemed to be Philip Burton bending over her ; it was his 
iron fingers clasped upon her throat, and then came 
blackness ; faintly, but growing clearer and more dis- 
tinct in her disordered brain, she seemed to see Mrs. 
Abie’s face peering curiously at her ; then, rising to a 
sitting posture, she pointed, with her little burning hand 
to the apparition, and cursed her for the deep-laid plot 
which had wrecked her life ; and then, exhausted, she 
would fall back on her pillow to mutter incoherently. 

Thus it was that good Mrs. Worthy found her. Most 
people would have said, “ I am afraid this sick lady has 
some contagious disease, and whether she has or not, I 
cannot be bothered with her, especially as her husband 
is behind with his rent money ; she must go to the hos- 
pital, or somewhere out of my way.” Not so did gentle 
Mrs. Worthy say; she bent over Edith Burton’s sick 
bed almost as tenderly as if she were caring for her own 
sister, or one of her own little girls. 

All through that long and dangerous illness, did this 
good woman soothe and care for her. Edith grew rap- 
idly worse, her strength was fast failing, and Mrs. 
Worthy asked her, during one of her lucid intervals, if 
she had any relatives she would like to send for ; the big 
tears filled Edith’s eyes, as she answered, ‘*No; not 
one.” 

She could not send for Mrs. Able, for that lady had 
taken an active stand against her since the return of 
Mr. Able ; she had even gone so far as to write Edith a 
letter telling her never to visit her house again while 


HUBBUB, 


she continued to live with Philip Burton, and had up- 
braided her in the most cruel manner for her marriage. 

There were her uncle and cousins, but she knew that 
it was a matter of perfect indifference with them 
whether she lived or died. 

Mrs. Worthy said, How about that distant cousin of 
yours who lives in Brooklyn, did you not say her name 
was Thornly ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Edith, ‘‘that is her name, but she is not 
well, and I dislike to trouble her.” 

“ I don’t believe she will consider it any trouble,” 
Mrs. Worthy replied. “I think I had best go over 
there to-day and tell her.” 

Edith made Mrs. Worthy promise that she would not 
alarm her cousin about her, and that lady started soon 
after, in quest of Mrs. Thornly. 

Philip Burton seemed enraged to think Edith should 
dare to be sick, and acted more like a fiend than ever. 
At night, he would come noisily home, long past mid- 
night, cursing and raving at sick women in general, and 
this one in particular ; he would proceed to put her med- 
icine far out of her reach, and, blowing out the light, 
plunge into bed, cursing at every breath ; and then fol- 
lowed long hours of agony for Edith, who would beg for 
one drink of cold water, only to be refused, again and 
again, in the most brutal manner. 

One night the fever was at its height, Edith had 
moaned and tossed restlessly all night; as soon as 
Philip Burton came into the room, she begged him in the 
most pitiful way to give her a drink of water. 


HUBBUB. 


Ii6 

“You must think I want to come home as tired as I 
am to wait on you. I guess you will survive if you do 
not have any water ; you are in better health than I am 
now,” he said. 

Edith turned her strangely brilliant eyes full upon 
him. “ Philip Burton, as you hope for heaven hereafter, 
as you expect to be sick,' and suffer, and die yourself, I 
beg of you, give me just one drink of water.” 

Philip answered this touching appeal, wrung from the 
almost dying lips of one he had promised to love and to 
cherish, with a volley of profanity, and cursing her 
again and again, he blew out the light and sought his 
pillow. 

All night long, Edith raved with the delirium of fever ; 
she was too crazy now to care that he cursed her ; and 
this bad man shuddered when he heard some of the 
same terrible language he had used so freely, falling 
from her lips ; he felt a strange creeping sensation of 
terror stealing over him ; her eyes, so bright and unnat- 
ural, seemed to gleam out at him, despite the darkness 
of the room. He dressed himself and stole out of the 
house unable to endure it longer. 

You can creep softly out into the still street, Philip 
Burton, you can go again to the haunts of vice, but while 
you raise the intoxicating glass to your lips, her face 
shall mock you from its depths. You may seek forget- 
fulness in the society of her of whom the Bible says 
“ her steps take hold on hell,” in the midst of all this 
wanton gayety, you will feel those blazing eyes upon 
you ; you will hear that voice, whose every tone was 


JIUBBUB. 


117 


music to you once, — you will hear it now in curses 
and discordant laughter ; through the long, long years 
to come, that pitiful cry for just one drink of water shall 
ring in your ears ! ” 

Two days after Mrs. Worthy went to call on Mrs. 
Thornly, that lady came to see Edith. As she en- 
tered the room, she started back in dismay.' Was this 
shadow of a woman, who a few short months before had 
been at her house, one and the same person.? She 
could not believe her eyes. Edith’s long, shining hair 
was almost the only recognizable thing about her, and 
this lay in tangled masses around her head ; but for 
the glassy eyes you would have thought her dead. Her 
voice was very weak as she said, “ It is very kind in you, 
Ina, to come to me. I hope the long ride will not make 
you sick.” 

Ina was prepared to find her very sick from what 
Mrs. Worthy had said; but the reality was almost more 
than she could bear. By a powerful effort, she choked 
back her feelings, and tried to be cheerful. “ Edith,” 
she said, after a few moments delay, ** would you like to 
have me comb your hair.? ” 

Edith assented, and Ina worked long to untangle the 
shining mass, which seemed mocking, with its brilliant 
beauty, the corpse-like face so near it. Ina remembered 
how she had combed this same silky hair years ago, 
when its owner was a happy little girl ; her mind carried 
her back to the time when she, a little orphan girl, with 
a black dress and very sad heart, had first found a home 
with her cousin, Ella Lyton. And looking back through 


ii8 


HUBBUB. 


the years which had flown, she felt that to the lovely 
Christian influence of Mrs. Lyton, she owed much. 
She seemed again to hear her say, “Ina, when I am 
gone, you will watch over my little Edith, — promise 
me.” 

This conversation occurred some time before Mrs. 
Lyton went to the West Indies, and Ina was young 
then, and thought little of the promise she had made. 
Years had passed, and she was now a mother. She 
almost upbraided herself that she had allowed so many 
years to pass without even hearing from Edith ; per- 
haps, she thought, bitterly, “I might have prevented 
this unsuitable marriage if I had been near her.” 

Edith said, with slow and painful utterance, stopping 
often, as her strength failed her. '' I have been very 
sick, Ina, but I am better; I had hoped God would 
take me, for my life is very bitter ; but I feel now I 
shall get well. Do you see that little picture,” she 
said, pointing with a waxy finger to an old-fashioned 
looking-glass, with a picture at the top of it. It repre- 
sented a cool stream of water, on the banks of which 
grew a weeping willow tree, whose long branches dipped 
almost into the water, while soft green grass bordered 
the stream like a velvet carpet. 

Yes,” said Ina ; I see it.” 

“ Since I have been so sick all I could think of that 
seemed to make me happy, was a little green grave 
right under that big tree, where, through all the long 
long years to come, I should rest, and hear the cool 
fresh water as it gurgled down the stream.” 


HUBBUB. 


1 19 

Tna’s eyes were full of tears ; but Edith did not notice 
it, as she continued, in a faint voice, “ I know I am not 
prepared to die, but God is merciful, and now I believe 
I shall get well, and who knows,” she said, wearily, “ I 
may not be as near to what I ought to be, in the future, 
as I am to-day.” 

Don’t talk so, Edith; God is very good. He has 
spared your life for a good purpose. Do not question 
his goodness.” 

Edith’s recovery was slow, but sure from this time, 
and Mrs. Worthy soon had the satisfaction of seeing 
her patient down in her pleasant parlor, where she was 
carried by the strong arms of Mrs. Worthy’s kind 
brother Henry, who, like herself, was ever ready to give 
a helping hand to those who needed it. 

I am almost well enough to take my departure,” said 
Edith, a few days after she was first brought down stairs. 

“Don’t be in a hurry, child,” said Mrs. Worthy. 
“You are still very weak, and a relapse might be the 
result of too much exertion.” 

“ When I leave your house, Mrs. Worthy, I shall also 
leave Philip Burton, never to live with him again,” said 
Edith. 

“ I am glad to hear you say that, Mrs. Burton.” 

“ Don’t call me Mrs. Burton again, please ; just call 
me Edith.” 

“ There is one thing I dislike to tell you, Edith,” said 
Mrs. Worthy; “but you must know it sooner or later; 
and that is, Mr. Burton, during your illness, pawned 
almost every article of your clothes. It made my blood 


120 


HUBBUB. 


boil to see him take one thing after another, and you so 
sick. I thought myself, at one time, you would never 
need any of them again.” 

Edith was silent for a few moments, as, with closed 
eyes and tightly clasped hands, she tried to shut out 
Philip Burton and his heartless treatment. 

Now that Edith was getting well he stopped his ex- 
cessive drinking and tried to make her believe he was 
very penitent for his brutal treatment of her, but it was 
all in vain ; henceforth there was a great gulf fixed be- 
tween them, over which Philip Burton might not cross. 

The night preceding the day in which Edith left Mrs. 
Worthy’s house, and separated herself from Philip 
Burton forever, she had a long, earnest talk with Philip, 
— the first since her illness, — in which she told him 
that the world was wide, room for him and room for 
her, and that henceforth their paths divided ; and, with 
almost saintly forbearance, tried to turn his thoughts to 
something higher and better than what he had yet ex- 
perienced. She spoke of reform, and alluded in the most 
touching manner to his sisters, and begged him, for 
their sakes to try, and leaving the past behind him, live 
up to his highest interpretation of right and honor ; she 
forgave him as she hoped to be forgiven by-and-by her- 
self, and told him that the only reparation she desired 
was for him to leave her the remnant of her life unmo- 
lested. 

Philip Burton was almost dazed by all this ; was this 
the girl he had married } this woman with heir pale face 
and searching eyes ! — - eyes that looked -from their pure 


HUBBUB. 


I2I 


depths, deep into his black soul I Or was that girl-wife, 
so impulsive and almost childishly innocent, dead, and 
from her ashes lived a woman, who could read him like 
an open book? It was only one short year and six 
months since Edith Lyton changed her simple girlish 
life for this terrible experience of married life. 

Once again she steps forth into the world, almost as 
much alone as when she entered Mrs. Abie’s home years 
before. Ina had invited her to come and make her 
home with her for a time ; so Edith accepted her kind 
invitation. 

But a few days elapsed after she had been with Mrs. 
Thornly, when Philip Burton called there, refusing to 
leave until he should see Edith. Slowly she entered 
the room where he was waiting to see her. For a few 
moments they were both silent, when he said, I have 
no right to speak of my love for you, Edith, when my 
actions have belied the words my mouth would utter ; 
but,” he continued, and his voice was husky with the 
emotion he was trying to choke down, I cannot exist 
without you. I know how this must seem to you, when 
I have again and again forgotten all that I should have 
remembered, and have treated you shamefully. Yes, 
Edith, I have been a brute ; do not shrink from me so, 
it was not I, my precious wife, but the liquor which 
maddened my brain. Speak to me, Edith ! Is there no 
hope } I do not ask you to return to a besotted wretch , 
like me, but I ask that if, in the future, I reform and 
become such a man as you could love and respect, will 
you give me just one hope that sometime, perhaps five 


122 


HUBBUB. 


years from now, ten years if you wish it, you will once 
again be my wife.” 

‘‘No, Philip! no!” she answered. “Make no refor- 
mation with the vain hope that you will ever be nearer 
to me than you are to-day, for this can never be ; but if, 
for the sake of the dear sisters who love you so tenderly, 
if for the sake of a great common humanity, that must 
ever feel your influence for good or evil, and better still, 
if for your own sake you become, as you say you can, a 
good and noble man, I shall know it, and, viewing your 
work from afar, shall rejoice in it as no one else can ; but 
I shall never be your wife again. I owe a duty to my- 
self as well as to you, and one duty never conflicts with 
another. God bless you, Philip ! and help you to an 
earnest, manly life.” 

“ O, Edith ! perhaps I am selfish, but I cannot be 
anything but what I am to-day, unless you help me, — 
unless you give me the one hope with which I can break 
these fetters of sin, and come forth a new man ; but 
take that hope from me, and what have I to strive for ? 
Your little slender fingers could break asunder these 
iron bands which enslave me, and I should once more 
be a free man.” 

Philip, you are wrong ; once I listened to you, when 
you placed your whole future destiny in my hands, and 
told me that your salvation or ruin rested in my power ; 
and I remember how I trembled at the words you 
uttered, half believing, as you said, that the future des- 
tiny of an immortal soul hung on the slender thread of 
my decision ; but it was wrong, — all wrong ; from that 


HUBBUB. 


123 


day I can mark your downward course. I gave all that 
I had to give — my life, my happiness — for your salva- 
tion. What did I gain ? your ruin and almost my own. 
Your future destiny is in God’s hands and yours; thrust 
not the awful responsibility of your future upon me, for 
you deceive yourself ; it rests with you and not another. 
When I first met you I was striving for a better life. 
I lived a life of prayer and faith. What am I to-day ? 
Philip Burton, look at me. I am a wreck in health, and 
morally speaking have almost lost my faith in God and 
man ; then ask me not to stand in God’s stead to you, but 
rather turn your heart towards him who alone can bring 
you out of the slough of sin and misery. Think of me 
as dead ; for the simple, trusting girl you married is no 
more ; so you may mourn for her, and may her memory 
make you a better man, as perhaps, in God’s great 
future, it may yet make me a better woman. Good-by, 
Philip ; again I would assure you that in my heart I for- 
give you, and so farewell.” She held out her hand, and 
for one moment he clasped it in his own, and then she 
was gone. 

Philip Burton was in no enviable frame of mind ; he 
felt he was baffled effectually, and the thought was 
torture. 

Edith had ever possessed a strange fascination for him, 
and he was perfectly truthful in saying it was the liquor, 
not himself, which had actuated his ill-treatment of her. 
Never had she looked half so lovely to him as she ap- 
peared that day. If there had been a powerful charm 
in the shy, innocent girl, there was a double one in the 


124 


HUBBUB. 


clear-sighted woman, who had told him the plain unvar- 
nished truth. He knew it was worse than useless to try 
to persuade her to live with him again ; so he reluctantly 
submitted to the inevitable. 

Edith gradually struggled back to health once more, 
and again the necessity of action was forced upon her ; 
but what should she do } She was not strong enough 
to do anything hard, so the matter was a difficult one to 
settle. Mrs. Thornly thought the best thing Edith 
could do was to learn dress-making ; so she offered to 
pay for having her taught a new system which was con- 
sidered very good. After a while, Edith was ready to 
begin her new business, and as her friend, Mrs. Wallace, 
of W., was anxious to do something of this kind, they 
joined interests, and commenced business. 

Edith felt almost frightened when she saw for the first 
time her name, “ Edith Lyton, Fashionable Dress and 
Cloak Making,” printed, in big letters, on the glass door 
of the rooms they had taken in a public block. Next 
to them was a doctor’s office, and soon after the new 
dress-makers commenced their business, this good doctor 
was often disturbed nights by Edith, who had contracted 
a severe cough, the hollow sound of which reached the 
ears of Dr. Abbott. 

“ I’m just a mind to go in there,” he thought one day, 
“ and see if I can give that woman something to stop 
that confounded cough. I would like to know how a 
man can sleep, with such an incessant barking in his 
ears.” So, suiting the action to the word, he knocked at 
the door. 


HUBBUB, 125 

Mrs. Wallace opened it, and said, How do you do, 
Dr. Abbott, walk in.” 

“ Which of you ladies is it who has such a trouble- 
some cough U' he asked, abruptly. 

Mrs. Wallace quickly introduced Edith to Dr. Abbott, 
and she replied, “ It is I, doctor. I am sorry if I have 
disturbed you.” 

“I think,” he said, without noticing her apology, *‘that 
I can give you something to stop your cough, if you 
will take it.” 

“ Certainly, I will take it, and shall feel very grateful 
to you for it,” she said. 

Dr. Abbott rose without a word, and went back into 
his office ; soon he returned with some dark mixture in 
a glass, and handed it to Edith to drink. Now,” he 
said, ‘‘just step into my office before you retire, and I 
will give you some more.” 

Edith did as requested, but it took a great many 
doses to cure the cough, and necessitated a number of 
calls on Dr. Abbott ; she found him a very interesting 
conversationalist ; sometimes he lent her entertaining 
books to read, and in many little, unobtrusive ways 
smoothed her rough path. 

Continued sewing soon made inroads on Edith’s 
health, which had never been good «ince her severe ill- 
ness. Physical weakness was fast making sewing im- 
possible, for her eyes began to fail her so fast, that 
sometimes she would sew for hours without seeing a 
single stitch she was taking ; so the necessity for 
change again occurred. Mrs. Worthy had given her a 


126 


HUBBUB, 


most pressing invitation to visit her ; she had moved 
from New York to Brooklyn, and there was nothing to 
remind Edith of the old, dreadful life. 

After much deliberation, Edith decided to go there 
for a while, and to ultimately seek different employment. 
She found Mrs. Worthy the same dear, sweet woman 
she had learned to love, when every other earthly thing 
seemed to have failed her ; together they went to the 
theatre, and visited picture-galleries, but, last of all and 
better than anything else, Mrs. Worthy got passes, 
through the influence of one of her friends, to go to 
Buffalo, and they visited the place of all others Edith 
had most longed to behold, Niagara Falls. As she 
viewed that wonderful combinatian of beauty and gran- 
deur she felt lost in the contemplation of it. How like 
human life it seemed, as, impelled by a resistless power, 
the foaming water rushed madly towards the high, rocky 
wall over which it tumbled, sending showers of spray in 
all directions, and the beautiful mist rose in snowy 
showers, until it seemed to kiss the clouds. A short 
ride brought them to the Whirlpool Rapids, and de- 
scending by means of an elevator, they found themselves 
face to face with the surging, hissing, foaming water. 
How like a living thing it seemed, as it dashed against 
the rocks on which it rushed I 

Edith said to Mrs. Worthy, It seems to me my life 
is like this water. I have plunged over the precipice 
and now I am in the rapids.” 

Mrs. Worthy was silent a moment, and then she said, 
cheerfully, ‘‘ This water will soon reach the peaceful 


HUBBUB. 


127 


bosom of Lake Ontario, Edith ; let us hope your life 
will be as rich in blessings to yourself and others as 
that lake is deep and blue.” 

During Edith’s visit at Mrs. Worthy’s, she received a 
letter from her long-silent cousin Victoria, asking her 
to come and stop with her for ar time. She was going 
to house-keeping, and wished Edith to be with her ; for 
Colonel Faber was away much of the time, and she dis- 
liked being alone. Edith hardly knew what to do. She 
realized from past experience, that Victoria was not one 
she would like to live with, but she also knew it was 
difficult for her to get anything to do that she was capa- 
ble of doing. So, after a few days of consideration, she 
decided to accept Victoria’s invitation. 


CHAPTER X. 

EVERY-DAY LIFE. 

Victorians home was situated in the lovely old town 
of D^, and a very pleasant home it was. The family 
consisted of Victoria and her husband, whose business 
called him from home much of the time, their daughter 
Minnie, a sunny-haired child seven years old, and Marian 
Darling, the maid of all work. But we would not have 
you suppose for one moment, that this same Marian, 
like most in her position, was a red-faced girl, with the 


128 


HUBBUB. 


seldom-omitted Irish brogue, for you could not make a 
greater mistake. Marian was very pretty to look upon, 
with her fair complexion, in which the lily “and the rose 
blended harmoniously ; her eyes were not unlike wood- 
violets, as they looked softly at you from under their 
silky fringes, and her dark-brown hair was one ripple of 
graceful waves. Edith and Marian were soon fast 
friends, and many a rough spot did Marian’s gentle 
fingers smooth for Edith. 

Three days had passed since Edith’s arrival, and 
amidst direful confusion, usually attending such great 
events, Victoria’s second baby made its advent into this 
strange, strange world. The baby was a wee bit of 
humanity, weighing only six pounds ; it had a little 
head covered with black hair, and sucked one of its 
small red fists with never-failing satisfaction, while it 
rolled its eyes unceasingly, sometimes looking toward 
its little fiat nose, until Edith, who was inexperienced 
in such matters, declared that the baby’s eyes were 
fearfully crossed; but the nurse told her it was only 
wind in baby’s stomach. A few days only elapsed be- 
fore Edith, and every other member of the family, dis- 
covered that little miss baby could cry. You, who have 
never had experience with babies, would not believe 
that such a small bundle of wretchedness could make 
such a fearful noise. After good Mrs. Bullins, the nurse, 
had stayed the six weeks for which she was engaged, 
Edith saw with dismay her preparations for departure. 

Victoria said, with her usual languor, “ I wish Edith 
would wash and dress the baby once before you go, Mrs. 


HUBBUB. 


129 


Bullins, for my health is so delicate it may be impossi- 
ble for me to have the entire charge of baby.” 

Mrs. Bullins threw back her head with a significant 
sniff, which implied great want of faith in Mrs. Faber’s 
weakness, and aside she told Edith, that unless she 
wanted to take full charge of that baby, she had better 
not learn to wash and dress it ; for,” said the nurse, 
Mrs. Faber is too lazy to breathe, and I can see 
through her without the aid of eye-glasses.” 

Edith knew that Mrs. Bullins spoke the truth, but 
she simply replied with a silent look of reproof So, 
when Victoria again requested Edith to wash and dress 
baby, the nurse made no further objection, and Edith 
proceeded to undertake the difficult task. 

What a task it was ! Colonel Faber threw down the 
paper he was vainly trying to read and entered the room, 
where Edith, with trembling fingers and flushed face, 
was taking the first lesson in washing an infant terrible 
as this one proved to be. 

Victoria clasped both hands over her ears, as she 
rocked back and forth, saying, “ Poor little thing ! Oh 
mercy ! this screeching will kill me.” 

Colonel Faber’s jolly face appearing at this moment, 
made Edith still more awkward, and the delicate lace 
was torn from one sleeve, in her attempt to get the 
little restless hand into it. Such kicking and yelling 
Colonel Faber had never witnessed, and he vainly tried 
to keep his face straight, but the whole thing was so 
ridiculous that he burst into a merry laugh, as he said, 
“ Well, little girl I guess you have mistaken your calling. 


130 


HUBBUB. 


Come, Victoria, do you not see how nervous you make 
her, going on in that way ? If you cannot dress the 
baby yourself, surely you can keep quiet while she tries 
to learn to do it.” 

It was very seldom Colonel Faber addressed his wife 
with anything like reproof, and this remark, gentle as it 
was, threw her into strong hysterics. If the baby had 
made a noise before, surely Victoria almost equalled it 
now, as, with screams and tears, she threw herself in all 
kinds of ungraceful positions. Her husband tried to 
soothe her, but the more gentle he was, the more un- 
reasonable she became, until, with a deeply troubled 
look, not unmingled with disgust, he left the room, and 
soon aftet the house. So Edith was left to soothe the 
troubled waters as best she could. 

Soon after this. Colonel Faber’s business called him 
from home for several weeks, and Mrs. Faber made the 
discovery that she was too delicately organized to sleep 
with her own baby ; so it was decided that Edith should 
take the child up-stairs with her. But the next trouble 
was that this unreasonable little baby preferred to 
snooze away quietly in the day-time, while she lay much 
of the night awake, and insisted on being sung to, 
walked with, trotted, or amused in any way, by which an 
infant’s cry has ever yet been hushed. 

After a few weeks of this tiresome existence, Marian 
and Edith decided to change work to a certain extent ; 
and so while Marian slept with baby once in a while, 
Edith performed many a household duty for Marian. 

Mrs. Faber seemed to prefer the quietness of her own 


HUBBUB, 


131 

room, to any companionship; sometimes Edith would 
call into the sitting-room to have a little chat with Vic- 
toria, thinking to make the time pass more cheerfully ; 
but if it chanced to be soon after dinner or any other 
meal, she would tell Edith, in a few words, and with a 
significant wave of her hand, that the work of digestion 
was now in progress, and that any conversation would 
impede it. So Edith gradually discontinued her visits, 
unless requested to come to her cousin’s room for a 
little while, during which time Victoria would talk about 
Edith’s unhappy marriage, and say many unfeeling 
things, or else she would dwell, with never-failing inter- 
est, on the last meal she had eaten, and wonder whether 
that dressing was going to distress her or otherwise, 
and also give a long list of directions concerning the oat- 
meal she wished Edith to cook for her. 

With Marian, Edith enjoyed herself very much. It 
was Marian who saved all the apple-parings and made 
apple jelly with them, because Edith was fond of it ; 
and it was Marian, too, who made Edith’s favorite cake 
and pie ; in fact, she was always surprising her with 
some kind remembrance. 

Edith and Marian used to spend most of their time in 
the dining-room. Edith had selected this room for her 
sitting-room, because it was near the kitchen, and by 
being near to Marian, she felt less lonely. At night 
they used to enjoy long, undisturbed evenings, after Mrs. 
Faber had retired to her room, and little Minnie was 
asleep in her own little bed. Marian and Edith sung, 
read, or sewed, just as they desired, unmolested. Some- 


132 


HUBBUB. 


times Marian would say, “ Don’t you want a cup of tea, 
and a nice lunch before you retire ? ” and Edith was 
almost always ready to accept, as the nights were long 
and wearisome to her. 

During one of Colonel Faber’s short stops at home, 
he said, “ It will soon be spring now, Edith, and then it 
won’t be so dreary for you here. I am going to have a 
lovely flower-garden, and you shall have your own plot 
of ground, and plant there your favorite flowers, and 
cultivate it all yourself.” 

Edith was delighted, and from this time waited im- 
patiently for the long-delayed spring. 

At length the last patch of snow melted from the 
garden, and a few warm days made the grass begin to 
grow. 

It was time to make the garden, and she waited very 
anxiously for the little spot, which was to be hers, to be 
designated to her ; but not until the beds were all laid 
out did she hear anything said about it. 

Under the kitchen window was a little three-cornered 
spot of ground. Mrs. Faber called Edith out one day, 
and said, pointing to this same spot, “ Edith, you and 
Marian can have this piece of land for a garden ; you 
can make such a division of it as you can both agree 
upon.” 

“ I think we shall not quarrel over it,” said Edith, 
scornfully. 

Victoria had tried, ever since Edith came into the 
family, to put her as much on a level with Marian as 
possible ; once she had remarked to Edith she thought 


HUBBUB. 


133 


she was very fortunate in having two such nice American 
girls to do her work. 

Edith said nothing, but she thought of the letter in 
which Victoria had invited her to her house, to be a 
companion to her, and also of the long weary days and 
weeks in which she had taken care of that little crying 
baby, and besides this had at various times helped 
Marian with some of the heaviest drudgery of the 
kitchen, and had received not one penny for her services. 
It is true Victoria had given her some clothes, but had 
she not earned all these, and far more ? 

As summer advanced Victoria’s mother came to make 
them a visit, and soon after Victoria’s sister also came ; 
it had been a long time since Edith had seen either her 
aunt or cousin, and she was much pleased to meet them. 
Laura had married some years before this, and had one 
child, a little baby girl. 

Soon after Laura’s arrival, she took a long walk with 
Edith, and during their conversation at this time she 
said, “ How in the world did you ever consent to come 
and make your home with Victoria ? I could not live 
with her myself and I do not see how you can ! I have 
often wondered how her own husband can endure her, 
she is so trying. He is one of the best men who ever 
lived, or he would have left her years ago.” Laura 
talked on in this way, until Edith, who had much cause 
for dissatisfaction, expressed herself more freely than 
was wise under the circumstances; for Laura lost no 
time in repeating to Victoria all that Edith had said, 
omitting, of course, her own share in the conversation. 


134 


HUBBUB, 


Victoria called Edith into her room, and they had a long 
talk in which all that Laura had told her was repeated. 

Edith replied to the charges against her bravely, say- 
ing all that Laura had accused her of saying was strictly 
true. “ In justice to myself I might repeat much of 
what Laura has also said ; but she is your sister and I 
shall say nothing.” 

This most uncomfortable visit came finally to a close, 
and Aunt Laura and her hopeful daughter took Their 
departure. 

But two days elapsed when the baby was taken 
sick, and after a few days the disease assumed a very 
serious form. Edith never knew how dear the child 
was to her until the little thing lay like a withered 
flower in her arms ; hot tears fell on the small uncon- 
scious face, as very gently she carried the little sufferer. 
Victoria was too delicate to have the care of her sick 
child ; so day after day, night after night, Edith hung 
over her little charge. Colonel Faber came home and 
together they shared the care of baby. One night, the 
strong man’s hope forsook him, and bowing his head 
into his hands he groaned out in his distress, “ O, Edith, 
this is very hard ; this little child has woven herself 
into my heart, and now to lose her is dreadful.” 

Edith said gently, '' Don’t give up yet. Colonel Faber : 
while there is life there is hope, I shall save my mourn- 
ing until hope is over ; while there yet remains one 
thing to do for baby I must work.” 

Colonel Faber quickly raised his bowed head, and 
reached out both hands to take the child, as he said. 


HUBBUB, 135 

‘‘Then let me work also, Edith, for it will help me to be 
brave.” 

Victoria asked Edith’s advice the next day as to 
which of baby’s dresses would be most desirable to lay 
her out in. 

This was more than poor, worn-out Edith could bear, 
and bursting into a flood of tears, she said, “Victoria, 
please don’t, there is time enough to talk of that after 
she is dead. You unfit me for the care of her.” 

Victoria replied, “ I feel that you will yet live to see 
her suffer, until you will be glad when it is all over, and 
my making suitable arrangements for her death can do 
no harm;” but, contrary to Victoria’s prediction, the 
crisis was passed, and baby was in a fair way to re- 
cover. 

When baby was but two weeks old, she had been 
named “Edith Lillian.” Edith after Edith Lyton, and 
Lillian after Colonel Faber’s sister. Edith had given 
the baby a beautiful dress, which had been brought to her 
many years ago by her father, from India, for her name. 
After a while Victoria decided to change the baby’s 
name ; so she dropped the name of Edith, and called 
her “Lillian Linden,” after a friend of hers of whom 
she was very fond. 

Edith had desired to leave Colonel Faber’s house 
immediately after Laura’s treachery, and would have 
done so, but for baby’s severe illness ; now there was 
no reason for farther delay, and she prepared to take her 
departure. 

It was early winter when she left Victoria’s house : 


HUBBUB. 


136 

for nearly one year she had been a member of this 
family, — had shared, in a certain way, its joys and 
sorrows. 

Victoria bade her an indifferent good-by, but little 
Minnie kissed her again and again, and clung closely to 
her when they parted ; baby prattled and cooed un- 
consciously, when Edith held her tightly in her arms for 
the last time ; Marian could not keep back the tears, 
and pressed Edith’s hand in silence. 

Colonel Faber accompanied her to the cars, and as he 
took her hand in parting, he said, earnestly, “ Now, if 
you ever want a friend, you have a claim on me ; never, 
while I live, Edith, shall I forget your care of my little 
sick baby,” and this good man’s eyes were misty, as he 
parted from her. 

Edith found Ina far from well, but very glad to see her. 
The rest attending new scenes and faces was most re- 
freshing to Edith, who was worn out with the experience 
of the past year. 

Two months quickly passed, during which time Edith 
visited Mrs. Worthy. One day, she had been out for a 
long ride on the horse-cars, where she had gone to 
transact some business for Ina ; as she entered the room 
Ina said, There is a letter for you on the table.” 

Edith quickly threw off her hat and cloak, and seated 
herself to read her letter. What was her surprise when 
she discovered that the missive was from the wife of one 
member of the firm of Carter & Co., of S., offering 
Edith her old place to work, as one of the girls had 


HUBBUB. 137 

\ 

left the place vacant by getting married. What old, sad 
memories this letter brought up! 

This girl, who had now left the candy-shop, had been 
Edith’s constant companion for two years, where they 
had worked in a room by themselves, covering cream- 
drops with chocolate, and she remembered well how sad 
they had felt the last day of their work together. Now 
to think of going back to the same city, and worse still, 
to the same old room, whose every memory should 
bring to mind fierce struggles she would fain forget. 

There was one favorable thing in the fact that Mrs. 
Able had removed with her family, to another place, so 
that the trial of meeting her, or of hearing her unkind 
remarks, would be averted. 

After she had retired that night she thought, and 
thought, until she was almost distracted, trying to 
determine what to do ; but as this one way was open 
before her, and all other paths seemed closed, there was 
no alternative ; so four days from the time she received 
this letter, she found herself once more bound for S. 

The kind lady, who had taken so much pains to secure 
this place for her, invited her to stop at her house until 
she could obtain a suitable boarding-place. 

The rain fell in torrents, as the cars slowly entered 
the station, and taking a carriage, she was quickly 
driven to the hospitable home of Mrs. Packard. This 
kind lady did not wait to let her servant answer the 
bell, but quickly opened the door herself, and gave 
Edith as warm a welcome as any one could desire. 
The pleasant sitting-room, with its rich furniture and 


138 


HUBBUB. 


bright lights, made a delightful contrast to the storm 
outside. Mrs. Packard tried, by every instinct of which 
her gentle nature was possessed, to make Edith forget 
all that could trouble her. 

The next day the search for a boarding-place com- 
menced in good earnest, but it was not as easy a matter 
as an inexperienced person might suppose. Almost 
every one who took boarders preferred gentlemen, and 
could they be prevailed upon to take a lady, they wanted 
such a high price for board, that a working-girl could 
never pay it. 

Mrs. Packard said, Do not be in such a hurry to get 
a boarding-place; just stay with me for the present, and 
we shall soon hear of one.” 

The first day that Edith went back to work in the 
old candy shop was an extremely trying one to her. 
As she entered the store in the morning, one of the 
girls, who had worked with Edith before, came forward 
and gave her a warm welcome, and soon she found her- 
self in the same old room wfiere she had spent some of 
the most eventful years of her life. A young girl, some 
sixteen years of age, was to be her future shop-mate, and 
so she commenced once more to walk in the old steps of 
long ago. Belle Granger, her companion in the choco- 
late room, was a very delicate girl, the only support of 
a widowed mother, who had suffered through long years 
with rheumatism, until scarcely a bone in her body was 
in its right place. But for her crippled mother. Belle 
was as much alone in the world as Edith, and although 


HUBBUB. 139 

they were totally unlike in almost everything, this 
similarity in their loneliness made them fast friends. 

After weeks of looking and inquiring Edith found a 
boarding-place. Mrs. Stacy, the woman who was to 
give Edith food and shelter for a specified sum, was, as 
people go, a good woman ; but her goodness was more 
of a necessity than an active principle. She always 
seemed to be apologizing to the world for being in k. 
If there was one thing above another she especially 
stood in fear of it was her husband ; she would start, 
when he appeared, all in a treamor of excitement to do 
his bidding. Charles Stacy was contrary, in every 
particular, to his most excellent wife ; he felt that he 
had a perfect right to be in the world, and never thought 
of apologizing to God or man for anything that he might 
think proper to do. Carrie Stacy’s chief attraction to 
her husband had been her yielding nature, and in this 
he showed praiseworthy foresight, for he knew that if 
anything opposed his will strongly there would be 
trouble. 

Mrs. Stacy would say to Edith, in that trembling 
uncertain way of hers, Miss Lyton I have to cook 
to-day ; what would you cook ? ” and thus in the most 
trifling matters did Mrs. Stacy appeal to those around 
her. 

Soon after Edith became a member of the family, Mr. 
Stacy’s father sent them a box containing several 
articles, but pork, both salt and fresh, was the principal 
gift, judging from the amount set before them for the 
following six weeks ; and this, with an occasional dish 


140 


HUBBUB. 


of tripe, formed their principal living. Mrs. Stacy 
would say, “ I like beefsteak myself, but he says it 
tastes too strong of greenbacks,” — she always spoke of 
her husband as “ he,” no matter to whom she was talk- 
ing. Often coffee would be the principal thing on the 
breakfast-table, and Edith would hear with dismay the 
oft-repeated excuse, “ I do not know as you can drink 
your coffee without milk, but I have none,” when, in 
fact, Mrs. Stacy knew full well Edith had often been 
obliged to drink it that way or leave it, which she some- 
times did. 

Edith bore the disagreealale things connected with 
her boarding-place until want of proper food, together 
with hard physical exertion, made her sick, and she was 
obliged to look for a more suitable place in which to 
exist. During her searches, some people would tell her 
it was much more profitable to board a man than a 
woman, and others would declare on no account would 
they have a woman boarder in the house ; but after 
much looking, and a great deal of inquiry, Edith was at 
last provided for. 

Her new home was with a pleasant old couple, Mr. 
and Mrs. Warren by name ; they had but one child at 
home with them, a little fellow some fourteen years old. 
Willie Warren was the child of their old age, and a great 
blessing he proved to them. Edith found a home for the 
first time in years, and Mrs. Warren soon learned to 
give her almost a daughter’s place in her heart. This 
lady was a very lovely woman, her heart was ever filled 
with sympathy for all earth’s sorrowing ones ; her own 


HUBBUB. 


141 

life had been very full of trouble, and this experience, 
instead of contracting her nature, as is the case with 
many others, had ennobled and expanded her, until she 
was almost oblivious of self, and lived nearly altogether 
in the joys and sorrows of others. 

Mr. Warren was a good man, and a Christian, but he 
was naturally possessed of an exceedingly vacillating 
mind ; and it was very difficult for him to follow as 
closely in the step of the meek and lowly Saviour as his 
heart desired. He ardently longed to be a shining light 
in the world, and was inclined to forget the words of the 
Saviour, when he said, ** And whosoever will be the chief, 
shall be servant of all.’* Kendall Warren was ever first 
and foremost in the evening meetings with prayer and 
exhortation, and in order that he might the more ac- 
ceptably fulfil his duty in this respect, he would labor 
long and earnestly, — for he was not a ready writer, — 
to compose and write his prayers and speeches. 

Mrs. Warren’s sitting-room, was a delightful spot to 
Edith ; first, and better than all the rest, was the sunny 
face of its mistress, who was ever ready to welcome her 
home with a pleasant smile and kind word. Lovely 
house-plants always adorned the windows in the winter- 
season, while Just outside the door, was a beautiful flower- 
garden in the summer-time. In one corner of the room, 
was an old black chair, a miracle of convenience to our 
good old friend Mr. Warren; on one of its ancient 
arms was attached a table, where most of his prayers 
and speeches were written, and the room would have 
seemed strangely empty without the old black chair 


142 


HUBBUB. 


and its silver-haired occupant. He would linger, with 
never-failing delight, on the theme of heaven. 

“Why, my Christian friends,” he would say, “when 
we reach that blessed home, which Jesus has gone to 
prepare, we shall be free forever from sickness, pain, or 
death, and Christ shall wipe away all tears from our 
eyes; then we shall hear the triumphant songs of the 
redeemed, echoing and re-echoing through the endless 
ages of eternity, and together with cherubim and sera- 
phim, we shall shout victory, through our Lord and Sa- 
viour Jesus Christ.” 

It was scarcely strange, that, with a thoroughly dis- 
eased body that was seldom free from pain, and the 
heavy burdens of earthly trouble weighing down upon 
him, this good man turned his mind towards heaven. 


CHAPTER XI. 

HELEN HAMMOND. 

Edith’s life was now a very quiet one, and her whole 
nature revolted against the irksome monotony of her 
humdrum existence. What she had said to Philip Bur- 
ton, during her conversation with him, concerning the 
ship-wreck of her faith, was literally true ; and although 
few people could detect any difference in her outward 
life, there was a vast change in her experience ; she dis 


HUBBUB, 


143 


connected herself from the church, and lived, spiritually 
speaking, a life of darkness. She was like a mariner 
without chart or compass, drifting at the mercy of the 
wind and waves. 

The old chocolate-room, in which most of her life was 
buried, was a dingy place, decorated only by the numer- 
ous spiders’ webs, which hung in many a dusty festoon 
here and there, while two windows, looking out on a 
brick wall not far distant, admitted all the light and air 
this dark old place possessed. Edith was very rapid in 
her movements; thus it soon came to pass, that her 
nimble fingers could accomplish more than any one else 
had ever before done in the task and toil of her voca- 
tion. 

During the first part of the time that Edith worked 
with Belle Granger there was nothing in common be- 
tween them ; so, after the few common-place topics 
were exhausted they would subside into silence, and for 
hours nothing but the click, click of their forks could be 
heard, as they picked the drops from off the grate, and 
the occasional swashing of the chocolate as it was thrown 
over the snowy drops. Sometimes, in fact quite often. 
Belle was in trouble, and then she would unburden her 
poor heart to Edith, who was always ready with her 
sympathy, and, if possible, more substantial help. Belle 
would say '' Oh ! Edith, if I am ever free from that old 
church I shall thank God ; but to be twitted of my 
dependence every day of my life, to be afraid to be seen 
in a decent dress, for fear some member will see me and 
report far and wide stories of my unpardonable ex- 


144 


HUBBUB, 


travagance, is more than I can bear. To have these 
same people come to my home, and look into closets 
and under beds, and in every nook and corner, to 
detect, if possible, some unnecessary article, is too 
much.” As the memory of these distressing things 
surged upon her. Belle would bow her head upon the 
work-board in front of her, and cry as if her heart 
would break. Edith’s own eyes were misty, as she 
answered, “ Come, little girl, do not take it so to heart. 
I know it is dreadfully hard to be placed as you are, 
but something tells me you and I shall yet live to laugh 
over our present misfortunes, when you are the rich 
Mrs. Somebody, and I, by some miracle not yet 
apparent, shall be rich and influential; we will show 
some of these good church people how to give, — won’t 
we ” 

Belle would laugh through her tears, and declare if 
such a time ever came, she would pay back every cent 
and dollar that church had ever given her mother. 

Edith was much aggravated by the oft-repeated 
remark that she had no right to use her own name, 
so, as time advanced and her wages increased, she soon 
had the satisfaction of earning large pay ; for business 
was good and her nimble fingers flew more and more 
rapidly, she decided to get a divorce, not because she 
wished to launch on matrimonial seas, but to again 
have the lawful right to her own name ; so she called on 
a lawyer, and being invited into his private office, made 
known her business. Six years had elapsed since her 
separation from Phillip Burton, during which time she 


HUBBUB. 


145 


had neither seen nor heard from him. Nearly every 
one has some person who is willing to transact, in a 
measure at least, some of the business attending a 
divorce suit ; not so had Edith, and the pompous lawyer, 
with whom she intrusted the case, treated her with the 
indifference and rudeness he thought a shop-girl 
merited. Edith had never been in a court house 
before, and the scene was a strange one to her. Alone 
she had transacted all the trying business connected 
with her case, and alone she entered the room where it 
was to be decided ; she had not long to wait, however, 
for hers was among the first tried, and with loudly- 
beating heart and trembling limbs she took the oath 
and answered the few questions put to her by the 
judge, and was soon free once more ! 

“ Congratulate me, Mrs. Warren,” she said, a half hour 
later, as she entered the room where Mrs. Warren 
was laying the cloth for dinner, “ I am Edith Lyton 
once more.” 

“ I hope you will never be any one but Edith Lyton, 
unless you should marry the best man that ever lived,” 
replied Mrs. Warren. 

A young lady, by the name of Helen Hammond, had 
entered the employ of Carter & Co., just before Edith 
had left to be married : their acquaintance was a short 
but extremely pleasant one; when she returned she 
was saddened to hear of Helen’s severe illness ; she had 
contracted an obstinate cough, and not giving it proper 
attention it had fastened itself upon her, and she was 
then supposed to be dying with consumption. 


146 


HUBBUB. 


Poor Helen ! her life had been a dreadful one ; when 
a mere baby her mother died, and she had not even one 
sweet memory with which to gladden the dark hours of 
her unhappy childhood, and still more unhappy girl- 
hood. Helen’s step mother was a most unlovable 
woman ; she had married Ira Hammond because he had 
money, and at that time, and ever afterwards, looked 
upon Helen as a most unfortunate encumbrance ; this 
feeling grew as the child grew, until Mrs. Hammond 
had learned to feel and to act as if Helen had no right 
in her father’s house. Thus it was that she, so far as 
possible, thwarted every cherished plan of this young 
girl’s life. When she found that Helen was a fine 
scholar, and gave promise of graduating with high 
honors, she immediately took her from school, and 
placed her in the employ of Carter & Co., and thus 
Edith first found her, and learned to love her. Helen 
had an aunt — her mother’s own sister — and while on 
a visit there had been taken sick ; long weeks of dread- 
ful suffering followed, and her case was considered so 
hopeless that those who inquired for her, asked, with 
bated breath, if she still lived. What was the surprise 
of all who knew her, when she was reported better, and 
still more, when she again returned to S., and after a 
few weeks came to her old place in the candy-shop. 
Edith looked upon her as one restored from the grave, 
and tried in every way to smooth Helen’s rough path- 
way. Their experiences had been different in life, but 
they had both been very bitter, and it may have been 
this fact which cemented their friendship. Edith had 


HUBBUB. 


147 


hoped against hope that Helen’s recovery would prove 
permanent, but alas ! as the fall advanced, and gradually 
the leaves begun to fall, Helen’s cough grew worse and 
worse, until her poor, trembling feet could hardly bear 
her *to and from her work. Edith’s heart was full of 
trouble for her friend ; how she longed for money with 
which to feend her South, or at least to try some of the 
many remedies for this disease. Mrs. Simons was a 
friend of Helen’s, and at her pleasant home this poor, 
sick girl passed many happy hours. It was during one 
of Helen’s little visits there, that Edith was first intro- 
duced to Mrs. Simons, and it proved a very pleasant 
acquaintance to her. The long-dreaded time when 
Helen should be unable to leave the house came too 
quickly, and the question arose between her three fast 
friends, Mrs. Simons, Mrs. Lilly, and Edith, what shall 
we do about going to see her .? Edith was first to 
speak. I shall brave everything for Helen’s sake, and 
go, for it will be nothing for us to be ill-treated by Mrs. 
Hammond compared with Helen’s suffering all alone.” 
Mrs. Hammond had for years been in the habit of 
treating Helen’s friends, who chanced to call there, 
with the utmost rudeness ; so it was hardly strange that 
these kind friends were appalled at the thought of a 
frequent encounter with this virago ! Edith understood 
human nature well, and although she trembled slightly 
when she rung the door bell of the Hammond mansion, 
she was fully determined to gain admittance. Some 
time elapsed before the door was opened, and then only 
enough to dimly disclose Mrs. Hammond ; she was a 


148 


HUBBUB. 


tall angular woman, with sallow skin and wild-looking 
black eyes. Edith said pleasantly, “ Is this Mrs. Ham- 
mond ? ” With a sudden jerk of the head she answered 
in the affirmative. 

"‘I called to inquire after Helen,” said Edith. 

“She would be well enough if she was not tired to 
death with company,” was the unpromising 5.nswer. 

While Edith was thinking what to say next, Mrs. 
Hammond continued, “ Her uncle has just left here, 
and has talked her almost to death.” 

“ I am very sorry for you, Mrs. Hammond ; you must 
feel very anxious about Helen ; and I hear that your 
son is ill, also, I hope not seriously so.” 

This unexpected sympathy had the desired effect on 
this strange woman ; her face relaxed from its frozen 
expression, as she said, “ My son is better, thank you. 
I would ask you in to see Helen, but she is so tired 
to-day, — can you not come to-morrow .? ” 

Edith assented, and took her departure. 

After this Edith went to see Helen two or three 
times a week during the remainder of her short life. 
Good Mrs. Simons, and Mrs. Lilly, too, were constant 
visitors in the sick room ; beautiful flowers stood on 
Helen’s stand, brought there by loving hands, and 
seemed in their fading loveliness not unlike the one for 
whom they were gathered. Helen named her three 
friends, “Faith, Hope, and Charity.” Sweet Mrs. 
Lilly, with her firm, unshaken faith in God, repre- 
sented Faith to Helen, while Edith, — who was ever 
painting, with her vivid imagination, beautiful pictures 


HUBBUB. 


149 


in which hope seemed to pierce the clouds around 
them, and made Helen forget many a pain and ache, — 
was Hope. Good Mrs. Simons, with her large heart 
and quick sympathies, was Helen’s Charity ; and so 
they reigned in Helen’s life — three graces. 

The dreary fall soon lengthened into winter, and the 
pale face on the pillow grew thinner and whiter, save for 
the hectic flush which rivalled the rose in its deep tint. 
Spring came, and still the slender thread of life spun out. 
The early arbutus was gathered by loving hands, to shed 
its gentle fragrance in the sick room. The first rich, 
red strawberries, brought from a warmer clime, were 
carried to tempt, with their luscious ripeness, the dying 
girl. 

If Edith had hoped against hope for Helen’s recovery, 
during the first of her illness, she longed now, as only 
those can, who have watched the gradual wasting away 
of one they dearly love, and felt the hopelessness of lov- 
ing, when, through its power, you can bring no relief to 
the dear one. Yes, Edith longed to see her much-loved 
friend at rest, even if that rest came only in the grave. 

Edith shed no tears, when, at last, the almost welcome 
tidings of Helen’s death reached her. Again she stood 
in the little chamber where the last eight or nine months 
of that dear life were passed, and as she gazed in rapt sol- 
emnity upon the face so dear to her in life, she felt a cer- 
tain feeling of triumph in the thought that Helen could 
never be sick again, — could never be reached by un- 
kind words or actions, and, better still, would never have 
to die again I The golden-brown hair rippled back from 


HUBBUB. 


150 

the icy brow, and a bunch of the bright, sweet, flowers 
she had loved so well, nestled in the shining braids. 
Precious Helen! Your life was short and bitter, but 
not a failure 1 and we, who still continue to travel this 
world of sorrow, shall thank God for the blessed lessons 
of patience, love, and duty, that we learned in your sick- 
room I 

Like a broken lily Helen looked, as, with a robe as 
spotless as her life had been, she slumbered peacefully in 
her coffin. Rare flowers, fit emblems, in their short- 
lived beauty, of the fair young life so early quenched, 
were scattered around her. Sleep on, sweet friend I 
the lovely flowers we have thickly strewn upon thy 
early grave shall wither, but not so the sweet fragrance 
of thy life. In many a dark hour, thy memory shall 
gladden us, and heaven will be a brighter thought to us, 
because we hope to meet thee there. 

Edith’s friends were more anxious about her than she 
could be made to feel about herself. The long-contin- 
ued strain of Helen’s illness had worn deeply upon 
Edith’s health, and those who loved her, heard with dis- 
may the hard, dry cough, and other symptoms of failing 
health. Still Edith laughed at their^fears, and was as 
careless of herself as ever. Not until the troublesome 
cough kept her awake, and her strength failed her so 
rapidly she could scarcely perform her usual work, did she 
consent to take medicine. For two years her health 
remained in a very precarious condition, but at length 
she grew gradually better. The work in the old choco- 
late-room now, was often dull, and Belle and Edith were 


HUBBUB, 


151 

frequently obliged to stay at home with nothing to do, 
and many a week earned only enough to pay expenses. 
When, however, they would make large wages, as was 
sometimes the case when all the teams came in near to- 
gether, they were almost afraid to go to the counting- 
room to take their money, they received such sour looks 
from the firm, and feared a cut-down in the price of their 
work. 

Belle said to Edith one day, “ I hope the time will 
come when we will not have to go sneaking into any- 
body’s counting-room, actually afraid to take the money 
we have honestly earned.” 

“I agree with you,” said Edith, “but until such a time 
comes I do hope they won’t cut us down.” 

“ Yes, so do I ; for heaven only knows what we 
should do, out of work half of the time and working for 
almost nothing the other half.” 

They had not long to wait for the dreaded reduction, 
for it soon came upon them. At first they felt dis- 
couraged, but finally concluded to submit to the 
inevitable. 

About this time good Mr. Warren was taken sick ; 
long he struggled with the disease, or complication of 
diseases, until death released him from his suffering 
body, and he went to join the angelic host, of whom he 
never wearied of thinking. But six short months after 
her husband’s death Mrs. Warren was laid to rest beside 
him, and Edith was again homeless. Various were her 
experiences in boarding-places ; in one she almost 
starved ; in the next place she was informed that they 


152 


HUBBUB. 


were losing money on her all the time/* and being 
unable to pay more, and unwilling to impoverish the 
people with whom she was stopping, she again made a 
change ; this time she roomed in one place and boarded 
in another; but the distance between the two places 
was so great she became sick and was obliged again to 
move. 

After several similar experiences, she at length found 
herself, one day, standing at the front door of the same 
old house where Mrs. Able had once lived. What con- 
flicting emotions filled her mind, as she once again took 
a seat in the parlor to await the entrance of its mistress ! 

Mrs. Able was dead ; she had died without seeing 
Edith and had left no message for her. Less than a 
year afterwards. Grandma Rushton, too, had passed away, 
but not unforgiven; for she had begged Edith to for- 
give her, and had acknowledged all her fault, in influ- 
encing Edith’s marriage ; and, with fast-falling tears, had 
placed her wrinkled hands on Edith’s bowed head, and 
invoked God’s blessing on her. “Never,” said she, 
“since you first left our roof, have I failed to pray, both 
morning and night, for the little wanderer. Yes, Edith, 
I have shed bitter tears over your sad life, and would 
have shed tears of blood as quickly, if I could ; because 
I was to blame for it all.” 

Out of Edith’s heart all bitterness had melted from 
that hour, and she forgave her freely. These thoughts, 
and many others, filled her brain, as she waited for Mrs. 
Cameron. The door opened, and that lady entered ; she 
was a silvery-haired woman, with a fair, almost young 


HUBBUB, 153 

face, and portly figure. Edith introduced herself, and 
quickly made known her desire for a boarding-place. 

Mrs. Cameron never said a word about preferring gen- 
tlemen to board, but immediately proceeded to say that 
she had a vacant room which Miss Lyton could have if 
she wished. The terms were satisfactorily arranged, and 
Edith once more slept under the same old roof where 
she had spent her girlhood. 

At first, each apartment was peopled with shadowy 
memories of the ones who once inhabited its well- 
remembered rooms. Some were dead, others scattered. 
She had not been in her new home but a short time, 
when a lady was assigned to be her room-mate. Mrs. 
Rivers was a woman of gentle manners and winning 
ways, and* two people could hardly have been found who 
would harmonize so well. 

One night, after retiring, Mrs. Rivers said, “sixteen 
years ago I was married in this very house.” 

“ Why, how strange ! ” said Edith, nine years ago,' 
I left this same house, a bride.” 

It was a singular coincidence, and more singular still, 
that both marriages had resulted unhappily. 

One of Edith’s friends said laughingly to her, “ it is 
bad luck to go back to an old house, Edith, so you had 
better be prepared for the worst.” 

Edith replied, “ I am always prepared for ill luck, but 
think I have had my share.” 

Soon a change came ; Belle Granger had an oppor- 
tunity to go to Philadelphia to live, and as she could do 
much better there, decided to go. Edith went to the 


154 


HUBBUB, 


station to see Belle and her mother take their departure, 
and very sad they each felt, as the last good-bys were 
said. Belle could not see the fast-receding city, where 
she had passed nearly all her life, for tears blinded her 
eyes, and she sunk back into her seat, to indulge in the 
luxury of a good cry. 

Oh, how sad the old chocolate-room looked to Edith, 
where for five years Belle had been her almost constant 
companion, and bowing her head on the chocolate 
board before her, she gave full sway to her sad 
memories. 


CHAPTER XII. 

p 

WHAT IS PHILIP BURTON TO ME? 

Edith’s new home proved a pleasant one to her, but 
the old chocolate room was inexpressably dreary. 

For hours she would sit all alone, so quiet that the 
little mice, becoming emboldened by the stillness, would 
run all around, and many times so absorbed was she in 
her work and busy thoughts, that she heeded not her 
strange company. 

Not long did the mice revel in this dreary place, for 
a black and white cat belonging to a grocery store near 
by, forsook his rightful home and took up his abode in 
the candy-shop. Thomas, for this was the cat’s name, 
preferred the chocolate room to any other ; he was a 
wild old creature, and did not hesitate to bite and 


HUBBUB. 


155 


scratch any one who dared to interfere with his catship. 
So it was that Edith, discovering him for the first time, 
snugly sleeping in a pan which had been placed to 
catch the drippings from the steam pipes, and not being 
aware of his fierce nature, placed her hand caressingly 
upon his silky head : in an instant he had seized her by 
one finger, and bit it so savagely that it made the tears 
start. Just then Mr. Sampson, the overseer of the 
establishment, came whistling into the room. 

Well, I declare, Edith,” he exclaimed, “that is rough 
treatment though ; Thomas, you ought to be ashamed to 
bite a ladylike that.” 

But Thomas only clapped his ears back tight to his 
head, and switched his long black tail furiously, as much 
as to say touch me again if you dare. 

Edith did not dare for a long time to come, but after 
weeks of kindness and gentle treatment, he became very 
fond of her, and would sometimes spring into her lap, 
when she was busy at work, and in many ways would 
show his affection for her. 

After Kitty came, the dark old room was not nearly 
as dismal. One day she was working as ’usual, when 
Mr. Sampson opened the door and said, “There is a 
gentleman in the store who wishes to see you. 

Edith quickly brushed the dust from her dress, and 
descended to the store. A stranger came forward and 
bowed to her, saying, “ I presume you do not know me, 
Miss Lyton, I am H. W. Kellogg of L. My wife’s 
brother, Philip Burton, is at our house, and very ill ; in 
fact, there is no hope of his recovery. 


156 


HUBBUB. 


Edith had grown deathly pale, and staggered against 
the counter for support. 

“ Shall I get you a glass of water said Mr. 
Kellogg, kindly. 

“ No, thank you ; I am better now. What were you 
saying Please proceed.” 

I was about to tell you, that during all his illness he 
has raved about you, until my wife thinking it might 
soothe his last hours, prevailed upon me to come and 
ask you if you would be willing to return to L. with 
me. 

“ Mr. Kellogg, what is Philip Burton to me, that I 
should be selected as a suitable person to quiet his last 
hours,” she asked bitterly. 

“ Very true. Miss Lyton ; he has not the shadow of 
a claim on you I grant, but if you could know how 
dark and hopeless is that death-chamber, you would 
feel it almost a privilege to be able to bring one ray of 
light into it.” 

Edith hesitated but a moment longer, and in that 
moment her better nature conquered. 

Looking up through a pair of misty eyes, she said, “ I 
will go Mr. Kellogg.” 

Edith went at once to the office, and asked for a 
few days absence, which request was quickly granted. 
Not wishing to make the matter public, she said simply 
that she was going out of town for a few days 

It mattered but little to Philip Burton that the bed on 
which he lay was an exquisite piece of workmanship, or 
that he was surrounded by all that wealth could pur- 


HUBBUB. 


157 


chase or refined taste devise ; soft lace curtains fell in 
misty folds at the windows, while the rich carpet gave 
back no foot-fall from its velvet depths ; the beautiful 
statue of a flower-girl held in her marble basket the 
loveliest blossoms which the conservatory could give, 
but Philip Burton saw them not nor inhaled their 
fragrance, for approaching death had benumbed his 
senses. 

“What did you say” — Edith Lyton here? — come 
to see me ? ” said the dying man. “ Ha ! ha ! ha ! you 
need not think I shall believe that, I tell you Edith 
Lyton is dead — I killed her ; and all the fiends of 
perdition are around me to-day, trying to avenge her 
death.” Then he lowered his voice and said, in a 
beseaching tone, “ The last thing that she said to me 
was, Philip, as you expect to be sick and die yourself, I 
beg of you to give me just one drink of water. I have 
tried to forget that pitiful ^cry, but it has rung in my 
ears ever since ; when I have been in halls of gayety 
and mirth that cry has sounded above the music, and 
louder still than all the laughter — ‘just one drink of 
water ! ’ And when I have tried to drink myself into 
forgetfulness her face has beseached me from the depths 
of the wine-cup, and those two little hands have 
stretched up to me from the sparkling liquor, — ‘just 
one drink of water — ’ the same old cry forever. And 
now the demoniac faces of a hundred devils leer at 
me, and repeat over and over again and again that cry 
for water. - 

Philip Burton had sown to the wind, and he was 


158 


HUBBUB. 


reaping, in full measure, the whirlwind. Not even his 
worst enemy could look upon that wreck of manhood 
without a feeling of pity. 

Edith gently approached his bedside, and stood with 
a sorrowful face before the man who had once been her 
husband. He fastened his glassy eyes upon her as he 
said, imploringly, — 

“ Do not mock me with a phantom of yourself, or is it 
really you, Edith Lyton ? Have you stepped from 
heaven’s glory down to this dark world, to soothe in 
his last agony, a dying wretch ? ” 

“ I am simply Edith Lyton,” she said ; “ not a phan- 
tom, but a reality.” 

Her voice seemed to quiet his ravings and her cool 
hand passing gently over his hot brow, soon soothed 
him to sleep. How would he awaken, sane or raving } 
was her constantly recurring thought. 

She had not long to wait, and Edith felt, with a cold, 
creeping shudder, that his eyes were resting full upon 
her, and that the light of reason shone in them. 

“ Edith,” he said in a broken voice, so different from 
the ravings of an hour before, “ you are almost an angel 
to come to me. God bless you.” I am failing very 
fast, give me some brandy ; there, I am better now. I 
am standing on the verge of eternity, and it is all dark- 
ness before me ; tell me, O tell me, can your faith pierce 
through the darkness ? Can you see one spark of light 
for me ? ” 

“ The Saviour has told us that he can save even to 
the uttermost, Philip; can t you believe him ?” 


HUBBUB. 159 

“ I fear it is too late, Edith ; I can’t believe anything : 
it is all mystery. Will you pray for me } ” 

Edith’s face was ashy white, as, with trembling voice, 
she answered, I have not prayed for years ; not since 
I prayed so wildly that God would let me die ; and that 
was just before we separated, Philip,” 

The dying man turned his face away from Edith, and 
groaned aloud. I am to blame,” he said, “ not only for 
my own wasted life, but for dragging down another soul 
with me.” 

“ No, Philip, no ; every soul stands or falls for itself, 
and on myself alone rests the blame. I will pray for 
you now. I can pray for you as I could not for myself ; ” 
and sinking on to her knees, her sweet voice filled that 
death-chamber with its earnest supplication. 

‘‘We thank thee, our heavenly father, that for our 
encouragement, we ever heard of a prodigal son, who, 
wandering far from his home and friends, wasted all his 
substance in riotous living, and being hungry, tried to 
satisfy his longing for food, with husks. At length, he 
wearily retraces his unhappy footsteps ; doubts and fears 
torment him ; will his father receive him again .? 

“ We thank thee, that we read that, while he was yet a 
great way off, the father saw him and flew on the wings 
of love to meet him, and in that one moment of joy he 
fell upon his neck and kissed him. 

“Blessed Saviour, bend with pitying love over this thy 
wandering child ; he has lost his way, and when he 
would gladly seek his father’s house, he finds himself ii: 
a wilderness of doubt and darkness. Mercifully appeal 


i6o 


HUBBUB. 


to him, just now. Thou hast said, ‘ I am the way ! ’ 
manifest thyself to him at this time. Through long 
years of sin and wretchedness he has tried to satisfy 
the cravings of his soul with husks ; he feels that the 
sands of his life are fast being numbered, and that an 
eternity stretches on beyond ; O, grant him thy salva- 
tion! open now his eyes of faith that he may pierce 
these dreadful clouds, and feel the sunshine of thy pres- 
ence. As he shall feel the cold waves of the river of 
death sweeping over him, may thy hand sustain him, 
and lead him on to peace and blessedness. Amen.’' 

As the last word of the prayer died away, Edith’s 
strength forsook her and she fainted ; as soon as possi- 
ble she took her place once more beside the dying man. 

“God bless you, Edith,” he said, ‘‘you have helped 
me to die. I feel that although my life has been a very 
wicked one, there is salvation for even me.” 

' “ He came not to call the righteous, but sinners to 
repentance, Philip,” said Edith. 

“ And were it not for that, there would be no hope 
for me,” he said, sadly. 

“ Nor for any one,” Edith replied. 

A few hours after this, Philip Burton’s immortal soul 
took its flight, and all that remained was his wasted 
body so unlike his former self. 

Edith took her departure as soon after Philip’s death 
as possible, and again settled down to the old unevent- 
ful life of the chocolate room, with no one but yellow- 
eyed Thomas for a companion. 

The cold winter came, and the snow piled up against 


HUBBUB. 


i6i 


the dirty window-panes made the dark old room, if pos- 
sible, more dreary ; winter melted into spring, and 
Edith wondered if she should spend all the rest of her 
life in this same way. 

Great events often follow each other in quick suc- 
cession. 

One day Edith was working away as busy as a bee, 
when Mr. McKinsey — one of the firm — walked into 
the room, with a pleasant “good-morning. Miss Edith.” 

This gentleman was always courteous; if he was 
about to cut your throat, he would beg your pardon 
first. After a few moment’s delay, he remarked that it 
was becoming necessary for them, as a firm, to make 
different arrangements in regard to their chocolate 
room ; in fact, the times were so hard, that they must 
get it manufactured for little or nothing ; and with this 
in view, they had given the entire job to the Italian, — 
Joseph Danagree; he was to furnish his own help and 
give the work, all finished, to them for a very low figure. 
Shall you consider a week from the present time suffi- 
cient time for your notice. Miss Lyton ? ” 

“Yes, certainly,” answered Edith, in a choking voice; 
and Mr. McKinsey bowed himself out. 

If a bombshell had exploded in the middle of the room 
it could not have surprised Edith more ; she had worked 
for this firm, in all, ten years, had commenced work 
there when a mere child, and they had known her 
entire history, and knew full well that there was not one 
in their employ who was less able to be suddenly thrown 
out of work ; but they were good Christian men, they 


HUBBUB. 


162 

thought, striving, undoubtedly, for God’s glory and the 
good of their fellow men, so it was not for us to judge 
them. 

Edith’s feelings were deeply wounded that she, of all 
others, should be the one to be cast out so unfeelingly. 
What should she do now } Where should she go ? 
These and similar questions filled her brain, until she 
grew dizzy and could not hold up her head ; so, sinking 
on the dusty floor she pressed her poor agonized head 
with both hands, and moaned in pain. One of the girls 
down stairs, hearing of the new arrangement, quickly 
bounded up to Edith to express her sympathy. What 
was her surprise to find her moaning and talking almost 
incoherently, with both hands pressed to her throbbing 
head. 

“ What shall I do for you Edith ” she exclaimed, and 
finally, becoming thoroughly frightened, she flew to a 
doctor’s office, in quest of something which would relieve 
her friend. The doctor sent some medicine and told the 
young lady to get her home as soon as possible, and that 
he would call at Edith’s boarding-place during the after- 
noon. 

It was hours before poor Edith got relief, and the 
doctor said she had had a narrow escape from conges- 
tion of the brain. 

The week allotted to Edith to remain in the employ 
of Carter & Co. quickly passed. Going to the count- 
ing-room she took her money for the last time and also 
a recommendation, which bore the signature of Carter 
& Co., and stepped forth once more a wanderer. A few 


HUBBUB, 


163 

days before Edith was aware of the great change ap- 
proaching in the chocolate-room, she had commenced to 
work a motto for her dear friend, Mrs. Simons. This 
lady had met with a severe loss in the sudden death of 
her husband. As soon as possible after his death she 
had ordered a picture of him to be taken life size, from 
a smaller one in her possession. The picture was fin- 
ished now, and Mrs. Simons said to Edith, at the time 
she first showed the picture to her, “ I want an appro- 
priate motto to hang over it ; what sh^ll it be ? 

Edith thought for a moment, and then she replied, “ I 
have seen one which I think would be beautiful ; it rep- 
resents a ship on the ocean ; black threatening clouds 
are overhead, and a tempestous sea surrounds the ves- 
sel' but, breaking through the darkness, the sweet words. 
Peace, be still,” shine forth in golden letters. And so 
Edith promised to find this motto, if possible, and work 
it for her friend. 

Never was a motto worked in more of a tempest of 
soul than this one. Oh ! how the bright words, “ Peace, 
be still/* seemed to mock the turmoil of her soul. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

NEW FRIENDS. 

Edith was much beloved by many people in S., and 
as is always the case with a favorite, she was bitterly 
disliked by others on this account. 


164 


HUBBUB. 


Edith’s friends were deeply sorry that she had lost 
her situation, while there was a certain class who had 
long been jealous of her, and were glad at heart for her 
misfortune. 

Mrs. Wallace, her old friend in W., was still, and had 
been for some time, quite anxious to have Edith make 
her a visit ; so about a week after her discharge from 
Carter & Co., found her at her friend’s house, and for a 
few days after her arrival it seemed as if they could 
never talk fast eno\igh, there was so much to tell. 

The sympathy of her friend and change of scene 
brought new life to Edith, and in two weeks she re- 
turned to S. in much better spirits. 

Mrs. Elmo lived on the same street where Edith 
boarded, and had lived there many years ; they had been 
girls together, had sympathized in many girlish trials, 
were married about the same time, and celebrated the 
anniversary of their birth in the same good old month 
of January. 

Mrs. Elmo loved Edith as a sister, and as soon as she 
became aware of Edith’s leaving Carter & Co., she had 
said to her, Don’t feel badly about it Edith, it will all 
be for the best I am sure. You have not made us a 
visit for years ; now we want you to come and just 
settle down for awhile and rest.” 

Mr. Elmo seconded the invitation warmly, and Edith 
promised to do as they desired, after her return from W. 
Mrs. Elmo was of a wonderfully unselfish nature ; her 
heart was so full of sympathy for others, that she seldom 
had time to consider her own trials ; the years which 


HUBBUB. 


165 


I ad passed since her girlhood had left little trace on her 
blooming face ; the great brown eyes were just as inno- 
cently trustful as in the days of long ago, and the deli- 
cate bloom had not faded from her cheek ; she was just 
as pretty a picture to-day as she had been when Will 
Elmo lost his heart. 

“Just think, Edith,” she exclaimed, a few days after 
Edith’s arrival, “ you and I are thirty years old ; does 
it seem possible ? ” 

“ I hardly regret it, said Edith, thoughtfully ; “ and if 
the future has no more to give than the past, I almost 
wish that my whole life was over.” 

“ I don’t wonder you feel discouraged ; but I tell you, 
Edith, I firmly believe that you will yet be happy before 
you die.” 

“ Heaven knows I say amen to that,” replied Edith, 
laughingly. 

These two friends had a most delightful time in each 
other’s society; they sang' together, read aloud to each 
other, and sat again in the gathering twilight as of old ; 
and built castles in the air, — gilding them with the 
richest tints Edith’s visionary mind could paint — until 
sometimes good old Grandpa Elmo would come limping 
out from his own room, and* looking at them from the 
lofty peak of his long life and wide experience, would 
call them foolish children, and suggest that they would 
be better employed if they would comb his hair or talk 
about the last prayer-meeting. 

Edith had another very dear friend by the name of 
Mrs. Felton. Naturally possessed of an intense love 


HUBBUB, 


1 66 

of the beautifnl, she should have been an artist, but fate 
had dealt very unkindly with her ; losing her parents 
very young, she had been tossed about the world, but 
the many hard knocks had failed to crush that wonder- 
ful love for beautiful things. It was remarkable to see 
what exquisitely lovely flowers she made, — from the 
full-blown rose to the lily of the valley, or delicate spring 
flowers — out of wax. Her home was far from elegant, 
but you never missed the want of furniture or money 
there ; for the artistic touch of her fingers lent beauty 
and grace wherever they rested. Many hours had Edith 
and Mrs. Pelton spent together, forming new designs 
for fancy work or carrying some new plan into execu- 
tion, and blissfully happy ones had they been to them. 
Mr. Pelton was a good man and a kind husband, but he 
valued the dollar in his hand much higher than some 
fancy chair, embroidered with the choicest flowers, or a 
lovely bunch of blossoms, from whose waxy petals you 
could not so much as refresh yourself with one perfume. 
It was with this one harmonious element, in their other- 
wise different natures, that Edith and Mrs. Pelton’s 
acquaintance grew and ripened into as warm and true a 
friendship as ever existed. 

Little more than a year previous to this time, a tiny 
little human flower had come to shed its heavenly fra- 
grance on Mrs. Pelton’s life ; and a beautiful baby as 
ever gladdened a mother’s heart, was little Edith Pelton. 

A few weeks after baby was born, Mrs. Pelton said to 
Edith, “ I am going to call my baby Edith. I always 
liked the name, and since I connect it with you, I love 
it.” 


HUBBUB, 


167 

This delighted Edith exceedingly, and she immedi- 
ately bought the little Edith a gold chain for her neck, 
and watched with never-failing interest the development 
of this precious baby. While visiting here, Edith re- 
ceived a letter from her friend, Mrs. Wallace, telling her 
that she had been able, through the influence of friends, 
to secure her a position to attend a confectionery 
counter, in a large house in the city of N. “ They will 
pay you,” she wrote, “ ten dollars per week, and if you 
are strong enough to endure the long hours, it will be a 
good place for you.” 

A few days after the receipt of this letter, she started 
for her new position. She had never been in N. to stop, 
and was not acquainted with any one there. The gen- 
tleman who had kindly secured this place for her was a 
comparative stranger; several years before she had been 
introduced to him and his wife, and as she alighted 
from the cars and directed her footsteps in search of his 
store, she felt like a stranger in a strange place. Here 
it was at last, with his name in glittering letters on the 
sign, Alfred Knowlton.” 

On entering, she inquired for Mr. Knowlton, who 
quickly came forward, and shook hands with her as cor- 
dially as if she was his equal in social standing ; then, 
taking her satchel, he said, “ I guess you had better go 
to the house with me, and stop with Mrs. Knowlton this 
afternoon, during which time you will rest. This even^ 
ing I will go with you to Mr. Fairbank’s store, and in- 
troduce you. I have told him you were experienced, and 
you must make him understand that you are, for I am 


i68 


HUBBUB. 


sure you will suit him ; and he, like most every firm, 
is opposed to employing an inexperienced person/’ 

By this time the hotel was reached, and Edith was 
soon ushered into Mrs. Knowlton’s pleasant parlor, and 
very cordially welcomed by her. The ladies, being left 
to themselves, soon decided that it was advisable to find 
a boarding-place. A directory was consulted, and get- 
ting the names and addresses of several people in this 
business, they proceeded on their tiresome undertaking. 

At the first place they called, were no vacant rooms ; 
the next one had a small one, and upon Edith’s inquiry 
as to price, she was surprised to learn it was eight dol- 
lars for what any one would consider very meagre 
accommodations ; but after calling at several other 
places, they found eight and ten dollars was the lowest 
price stated. 

Mrs. Knowlton,” said Edith, "‘are you acquainted 
with any one who earns her own living, and boards in a 
boarding-house } ” 

After a moment^s hesitation, Mrs. Knowlton replied. 
Yes; I am slightly acquainted with a lady by the name 
of Bars tow, who tends in a store not far from here.” 

*'Let us call on her,” said Edith, before we go to 
another place ; “ she may be able to direct us to some 
more reasonable house.” 

Mrs. Barstow was of a warm-hearted, genial nature, 
more fond of doing a kindness for her friends, than of 
receiving one ; she took the whole situation in at a 
glance, when Mrs. Knowlton told her of the difficulty 
they were having. She had been a widow for many years. 


HUBBUB, 169 

dependent on her own exertion for support, with a little 
girl to provide for beside. 

“ I am boarding on Meadow street,” she said. “ I 
think Mrs. Rutherford has a small room vacant now;” 
and thanking Mrs. Barstow for her kindness, they 
started for Meadow street. 

The house was, or had been once, a mansion ; it was 
large and square, with a canopy over the front door, 
supported by two immense white pillars, on one of 
which was a doctor’s sign, and on the other a notice 
informing the passers-by that board and lodging could 
be obtained at this house. Their ring was answered by 
a very tall, pale-faced woman, who would have been 
pretty but for a certain dejected, hopeless expression ; 
her voice partook of the despondency of her face, as 
she invited them to look at the room ; they entered a 
broad hall, at the opposite end of which, an open door 
disclosed a broad veranda, and on beyond, green trees 
and a wide open space. The broad staircase conducted 
them to the upper hall, and stretching on to its farthest 
limits was the room referred to. It was a wee bit of a 
room^ with a small looking-glass upon the wall, hung at 
so great a height, that none but people of lofty stat- 
ure could hope to get a glimpse of themselves ; the bed 
was a very feeble-looking structure, exceedingly narrow 
and flat ; ah old-fashioned bureau and one chair com- 
prised the furniture. There was a row of nails at one 
end of the room, designed to hang such few articles upon 
as one might not need upon their back ; this room with 
board was five dollars per week ; this price delighted 


HUBBUB, 


170 

Edith, for it came within the limits of her pocket-book, 
and quickly engaging board, they took their departure. 

The handsome store of Fairbanks was one blaze of 
light, making the plate glass and silver-mounted show- 
cases glisten brilliantly, as Mr. Knowlton and Edith 
entered. It was a bakery, confectionery, and ice-cream 
saloon ; soft lace curtains, draped over rich blue ones, 
divided the store from the saloon. Mr. Fairbank’s desk 
was just inside of these curtains, and here they stopped. 
Waiting one moment for him to finish the sentence he 
was writing, Edith was introduced. Since she had been 
told she must profess experience, her heart misgave 
her ; so, with trembling frame and fluttering heart, she 
answered Mr. Fairbank’s rapid questions ; he was an 
abrupt man, with a shrewd look in his keen, gray eyes, 
and an almost hard, unfeeling expression. 

“You have had experience in confectionery. Miss 
Lyton, I believe,” he said. 

“Yes sir ; I have worked for the firm of Carter & Co. 
for ten years.” 

“Very good,” he replied. “ Come into the store with 
me, and I will show you your department.” “ I shall 
expect,” he added, “ that your thorough knowledge of 
the business will relieve me of all anxiety connected 
with this department. You are to ask me no prices, 
and will order every article for your stock. The last 
girl we employed was not worth the room she took up, 
and I am worn out with inefficient help.” 

Edith was to begin work the following day ; so, bid- 
ding him good-evening, she sought her boarding-place. 


HUBBUB. 


171 

The little room, with its scanty furniture, looketl 
strangely dreary in the dim light of the lamp which had 
been given Edith ; her trunk had arrived, and as it was 
a large one, the room was completely filled with it and 
its owner. It seemed to Edith that a mountain had 
suddenly fallen upon her since her conversation with 
Mr. Fairbanks. She was sure she never could meet his. 
requirements, and her heart sunk with the thought of 
the responsibility. Opening one of the bureau drawers, 
her eye fell upon a crumpled piece of paper, on which 
was written, in lead pencil, “ Out of all thy troubles I will 
deliver thee! ” She laid the little scrap of paper down, 
and smiled wearily at its comforting words. She retired 
to her little bed, but not to sleep ; for though all the 
long hours of that night she turned and tossed, until 
morning found her worn out with her night of anxiety ; 
the bed proved to be a very musical one, and during the 
restless turning of its little occupant it groaned almost 
like a living thing. Hastily dressing herself she de- 
scended to the breakfast-room, where she received a 
pleasant smile from Mrs. Barstow, who introduced her 
to a tall, dark lady, seated by her side, as my daughter 
Mrs Wilton, Miss Lyton.” 

Mrs. Wilton bent a large pair of velvety-black eyes 
full upon Edith, as she gracefully acknowledged the 
introduction. 

At the end of the table, and on the other side of 
Mrs. Barstow, sat a dark-complexioned gentleman, who 
gave Edith a searching glance, as Mrs. Barstow said, 
Mr. Charlton, Miss Lyton.’' 


HUBBUB, 


i7Z 

Next to him was a lady, who might have been young, 
and, possibly, was old ; her hair was almost white, but 
was arranged in a fanciful manner, while her entire 
dress partook of the same showy style. 

“ I suppose I must do my share towards making you 
acquainted with this family. Miss Lyton,” said Mr. 
Charlton, as, with a mischievous look in his eyes, he 
said, “this lady at my left-hand is Miss Marvin. Miss 
Marvin, let me introduce you to Miss Lyton. The gen- 
tleman at the foot of the table (and here let me say 
this end of the table is the head and that the foot) is 
Mr. Rayners, Miss Lyton.” 

Mr. Rayners was a pleasant-faced, middle-aged man, 
with iron-gray hair, and a merry twinkle in his eye. 
He said, quickly, “I am very happy to make Miss 
Lyton’s acquaintance, and would also beg to tell her, on 
this occasion, that Mr. Charlton is mistaken in sup- 
posing that end of* the table to be the head ; I leave it 
for you to say, Miss Lyton, if you do not think this is 
much the most dignified looking place.” 

Edith laughingly replied, “ I shall always look upon 
that place as the head of the table, in spite of first 
prejudices.” 

Edith was next introduced to Mrs. Wilton’s husband, 
who was the opposite in every respect to her but in 
height ; his hair was brown and wavy, aad his eyes blue 
in color, and full of witchery ; a light mustache, har- 
monizing with his hair, gave to his face a distinguished 
look. 

Edith drank her cup of coffee, and tasted little else; 


HUBBUB. 


m 


she had decided to see Mr. Fairbanks, and tell him the 
truth in regard to her inexperience ; it was true, that 
she had had a large experience in making candy, but 
making and selling were very different, and she felt 
she could not begin work giving her employer a 
false idea of her ability. The colored waiter was very 
busy dusting chairs and tables, and putting the saloon 
in order for another day, when Edith entered the store, 
and proceeded to the desk. 

“Mr. Fairbanks is not here yet, Miss,*' said the 
waiter ; “ he will come very soon.” 

Edith sank into a chair, and waited for the proprietor 
of this imposing place; some moments elapsed before 
he came, and when his quick, restless step at last 
echoed through the store, Edith’s heart bounded as 
if trying to escape from its narrow prison. 

“ Good-morning, Miss Lyton,” said he, bustling up to 
his desk; “you are ahead of me this morning.” 

“ Only by a few moments, Mr. Fairbanks. I want to 
say just a few words to you,” she said, in a trembling 
voice. 

The gentleman turned his eyes full upon her, and 
waited in respectful silence. 

“ I cannot bear the thought of entering your employ 
under a false impression, and, after thinking the matter 
over, I must tell you clearly I am not an experienced 
saleswoman ; it is true I have worked on candy for a 
number of years, but I have never sold it.” 

There was something very unusual in the frank way 
in which Edith Lyton made known her inefficiency t*^ 


174 


HUBBUB. 


Mr. Fairbanks. He was a kind-hearted man, and her 
rigid truthfulness won his respect in a moment. 

“ Miss Lyton,” he said, “ I think you will suit me. I 
admire the frank manner in which you tell me of your 
inexperience. I am more than willing to give you a trial. 

Edith did not expect this ; she was prepared for 
roughness, but not for these few kind, gentle words ! She 
tried hard to choke back the tears, but all in vain ; she 
was almost hysterical through the severe strain of the 
past few hours, and leaning against the desk with both 
hands up to her face, to press back the fast-gathering 
tears, she looked up at her employer through the mist, 
and said, “ I am very much ashamed of myself, but the 
tears will come. I have not slept all night, and I am 
tired and nervous.” 

“ I have a wife and sister. Miss Lyton, and understand 
women well. You are in a strange place, and I was 
very severe in my remarks last night. I am sorry for it ; 
now go and wash your face and dry your eyes, and I 
will tell you about the work ; and as this is new busi- 
ness to you, I will pay you eight dollars a week for the 
present.” 

Edith was satisfied with her pay, and at once acqui- 
esced with Mr. Fairbanks’ request. Together they went 
through the stock, and as he told h^r the different prices 
she wrote them down for reference ; the gentleman 
showed her how to make paper horns, and after all this 
she commenced the daily cleaning. The two sets of 
brass scales Edith’s deft fingers polished until they 
looked like gold, and many times Mr. Fairbanks would 


HUBBUB. 


175 


say, smilingly, as he passed Edith’s shining show-cases 
and brilliant scales, “It does my eyes good to look at 
your department, Miss Lyton ; it is so spotlessly neat.’» 

The first customer Edith waited upon was a young 
man ; he came in with a dash, and asked for a quarter of 
a pound of peppermints. The candy was quickly 
weighed out, but not being very expert at making paper 
horns, her fingers trembled as she folded the paper in 
the desired shape and quickly seized the scale to pour 
the candy into it. Alas ! the nervous little hands poured 
the precious peppermints wide of the mark, and only a 
few fell into the horn, while the rest rolled, with a loud 
rattling noise, to the floor. Edith felt -unutterable things, 
but she was outwardly calm, while she measured another 
quarter and this time with success. The hours in the 
store was very long, beginning at eight in the morning 
and ending at ten in the evening, and Edith would go 
home almost staggering with weariness at night. 

Mrs. Barstow had a large, pleasant room, the door of 
which was beside Edith’s. “ Come right in here every 
night. Miss Lyton, and rest yourself before you retire. 
You will always find me here : there ! take this big 
chair, and put your feet on this one. I know they ache, 
— mine do.” 

Very often Walter Charlton would form one of their 
number in the evening, and with his feet on the window- 
sill and his meerschaum pipe in his mouth, he would de- 
clare himself properly fixed, and proceed to amuse Mrs. 
Barstow and Edith by his comical remarks. Walter, 
with all his fun and drollery, was far from a happy man ; 


176 


HUBBUB. 


in the first place, he tried too hard to he happy, and as 
happiness is a shy goddess he failed to win her. In his 
heart he thought that fate had been very unkind to him, 
and because he had experienced some trials in common 
with other mortals he was morbid, and thought too much 
of his troubles and too little of his blessings. Three 
things were necessary to Walter Charlton’s existence ; 
firstly, his well beloved meerschaum ; next, his ugly 
horse, which no one but himself could harness ; and, 
thirdly, the admiration of the fair sex, — as he called the 
ladies. It would have been an utter impossibility for him 
to have truly loved any woman, because he worshipped 
himself, and that worshipful love of Walter Charlton 
left no room for the love of anything better ; but he was 
ignorant of this, and firmly expected to fall in love 
sometime, when he should have found a paragon of per- 
fection in some woman, and then he would need only to 
make known his devotion, for her to concentrate all the 
sweetness of her nature into one grand passion for him- 
self 

This was Edith’s new friend ! 

Mr. and Mrs. Wilton were very pleasant friends, and 
Edith passed many a happy hour in their society. 

Sunday was a day of rest to the Meadow Street 
boarders, and after breakfast you find them gathered in 
a merry group on the back piazza. Walter would lie 
stretched at full length on a long bench, with a slanting 
board for a pillow, and smoking as usual. Edith often 
wandered into the old yard, to search for four-leaved 
clovers, with Mrs. Wilton for a companion. 


177 


HUBBUB, 

Edith’s work was fast wearing her out, and every day 
she grew less able to battle with the long, long hours, to 
say nothing of the almost constant cleaning. One of 
the gentleman clerks would often bring her lovely flow- 
ers, so Edith was adorned with rose-buds and pinks every 
day. On many accounts her life was a happy one, had 
it not been for the utter exhaustion attending her work. 

Mr. Charlton said to her one day, ‘^Miss Lyton. I 
wish you would take a sister’s privilege with me ; you 
are a stranger, and I am often very lonely; I think we 
can be a mutual benefit ; will you agree to this 1 ” 

Edith gave a willing consent, and from that time they 
enjoyed the most unreserved freedom in their friend- 
ship. If she had been his own sister she could not have 
teased him any more, or showed, in a more ridiculous light, 
his weak points to him. 

Mrs. Barstow would say, “You two are quarrelling 
again! Edith does not treat you well — does she } What 
shall we do with her } ” 

“I have just threatened to throw her out of the win- 
dow ; she cannot even let me exist with the pleasant de- 
lusion that I possess a nice moustache, but thinks the 
stray hairs are likely to get lost from each other ; don’t 
you call that insulting, Mrs. Barstow > ” 

“ Yes, certainly, we will have to put a plaster on her 
little mouth, to insure your future peace of mind, — 
won’t we, Walter.^” 

Sometimes Walter turned the tables upon Edith, and 
she would enjoy a joke at her own expense, just as 
keenly as if Walter was the victim. ^ 


178 


HUBBUB, 


Edith began to feel more and more unable to endure 
the hard work, and found that sickness would inevitably 
result if she continued longer at Fairbanks’. She told 
him she must make a change or be sick ; he had liked 
Edith from the moment she had told him of her inexpe- 
rience, and through the weeks she had been in his em- 
ploy, his respect had daily increased, until he felt a cer- 
tain attachment for her. 

“ I am sorry to hear you say that. Miss Lyton ; but 
really you do look fearfully tired. I wonder if you could 
not divide your pay with some other girl, and so have 
some help 1 ” 

“ I would gladly do so, Mr. Fairbanks, but I cannot 
live on less. I pay five dollars for my board, and fifty 
cents for washing and ironing, and it leaves me but two 
dollars and a half.” 

I am very sorry to lose you, but if it must be so, I 
shall have to make the best of it. At any time, if I can 
help you to get a more suitable situation, do not hesitate 
to call on me.” 

Edith worked out her week’s notice, and showed the 
• young lady who was tor succeed her, through the stock, 
and in many ingenious ways made the task of learning 
names and prices easy to her ; then, thanking Mr. Fair- 
banks for his unvarying kindness, she took her depart- 
^ ure from the store where she had spent so many weary 
hours. 


HUBBUB, 


179 


CHAPTER XIV. 

VARIOUS 

The next place where Edith applied for a position 
was in a large corset factory in an adjoining city. She 
succeeded in getting the place, and went to work at 
once. The sewing machines were run by steam power, 
and were arranged in rows several times across the long 
room. The operators were composed of all classes of 
girls and women, from the mere child to the gray-haired 
woman, and represented many nationalities. Edith took 
the machine designated to her, and was given a piece of 
cloth with which to learn the motion of it ; pressing her 
foot as she was told, upon the treadle, the machine started 
off with lightning rapidity, and the needle broke before 
she could think to lift her foot ; this was the beginning. 
Edith remained here a week, and succeeded in earning 
two dollars and twenty-five cents. She would still have 
continued this weary struggle for existence, hoping by 
continued practice to be able to earn more, but her eyes 
completely failed her, making farther stitching impos- 
sible. She received a letter from a friend in S., saying 
she could have a place to learn to make paper boxes, 
and she immediately returned there, and entered upon 
this new business. 

The smell of the paste was sickening, and she found 
that earning but forty cents for one hundred boxes, would 
not begin to pay her board ; and, what was still more dis- 


i8o 


HUBBUB. 


couraging, girls who had worked at the business five 
and six years were unable to earn five dollars per week. 
She received a letter from Mrs. Barstow about this time, 
informing her of a place in a large rubber shoe manu- 
factory. “ You can earn enough to pay your board,” 
she wrote, and be looking all the time for some place 
n^ore desirable.” 

Mrs. Elmo advised her not to go, saying, A rubber 
shop is no place for you, Edith.” 

“I will open the Bible,” said Edith, “and see what 
verse my eye falls on.” 

Quick as thought, the book was opened, and she read, 
“ Get ye up from here, go without delay.” 

The two friends laughed quite heartily over this 
strange answer, and Edith prepared to go. 

She found the rubber-shop a dismal old building, 
made of red brick, and had been used so long for the 
manufacture of boots and shoes that every board in the 
partition and floors was saturated with this unwhole- 
some odor. 

Mr. Finly, the overseer of the department in which 
Edith was placed, was a smooth-faced man, with a soft, 
cat-like tread, and his voice sounded not unlike the sat- 
isfied purring of one of these quadrupeds. The room 
was as dingy and unwholesome as the outside of the 
building indicated. She was given a stool to sit on, and 
a pair of shears almost as big as herself. A pan made 
of tin, and filled with a vile-smelling liquid, called 
cement, completed her outfit. Her first work was to 


HUBBUB. 


i8i 


line with red flannel a set of men’s soles, number 
fourteen. 

Before beginning work, the girls and women employed 
in lining insoles, were obliged to take an immense bas- 
ket and, in an adjoining room, cut their lining in the 
rough, from a big pile of flannel left after cutting out 
the boot legs.- Two persons went together, and Edith’s 
companion was an old lady by the name of Rusk ; they 
were neither of them strong, and the heavy flannel, with 
a dozen thicknesses of it together, was about all they 
could cut. 

Edith said, Give me the knife and I will cut while 
you hold it up.” , 

It was a huge butcher-knife, and her strength soon 
flagged. As she was slashing to the right and left, 
trying to hack it off, she exclaimed, “ What shall I give 
you, Mrs. Rusk, a roast or a steak 

The old lady laughed and they each took a seat on 
the pile of red rags, to gather strength for a moment. 

At last the immense basket was full, and they looked 
not unlike two rats trying to move an egg. One of the 
workmen, a true gentleman, came to their assistance, 
and with his help the heavy basket and its contents 
reached its destination. For seven long weeks Edith 
remained here, not paying her expenses, but hoping to 
get some more profitable place. The large shears were 
entirely too heavy for her delicate hand, and the result 
was, she made it almost useless. For months after 
she left this fearful place, the poor over-strained hand 
pained her almost constantly, and the fingers cramped, 


i 82 


HUBBUB. 


until the other hand was necessary to pull them straight. 
Edith’s natural hopefulness seemed to be forsaking 
her. Continued misfortune, and such a long, unsettled 
condition, had brought a deep gloom over her. If she 
had ever had a little fun at Walter Charlton’s expense, 
during their first acquaintance, he had now turned the 
tables completely. Edith was too refined to joke about 
a really delicate matter, but not. so with Walter, and 
finding that Edith was peculiarly sensitive about the 
rubber shop, he lost no opportunity to vex her. The 
work was quite uncertain, and she often had a day at 
home ; and on one of these days she received a letter 
from a distant relative, residing in her native village. 

Mrs. Hedge wrote, “You will doubtless be surprised 
when I tell you, that some two months since, a gentleman 
of my acquaintance went to the West Indies. I learned 
that he was intending to visit the island where your 
father and mother died, and asked him to make inquiries 
concerning your father’s widow and your half-brother. 
I received a letter from him a few days since, telling me 
he had made searches which had led to his finding Mrs. 
Lyton and her son. I also received a letter directed in 
my care, and addressed to you, which I enclose to you, 
thinking it must be from your father’s wife. 

Edith broke open the strange letter with almost the 
reverence one feels when looking into a coffin, for after 
all these years of silence, it seemed like hearing from 
the dead. The opening words thrilled her heart with a 
new strange feeling, as she read, — 


HUBBUB. 


183 


My dearest daughter — Can it be that, after so 
many years, I am again permitted to hear from you ? 
When this gentleman came with news from you, or 
from your friend, I felt the long years, which have inter- 
vened between my husband’s death, passing into ob- 
livion ; and again I seem to be standing beside his dying 
bed, when he commended you to my keeping. How 
different has my lot been to my heart ! how gladly 
would I have shielded you, Edith, from every care and 
trouble, had it been in my power I Some three months 
after your father’s death, my youngest boy was born ; 
he is now sixteen years old ; his name is Eugene, and I 
am sure you would love your unknown brother if you 
could see him ; he is at present, employed in a large 
mercantile house here. I spoke of Eugene first because 
you were not aware of his existence. Your brother 
Harry is nowin Holland, where he is being educated for 
the priesthood ; in a little more than three years he will 
enter upon the solemn duties of his calling, and may 
God grant him success ! Write to me as soon as you 
can, for I shall await, with unceasing anxiety, your let- 
ter. Eugene joins me in sending much love. 

Believe me always, 

** Your most affectionate mother.” 

Edith sat for a long time unconscious of the passing 
time, unmindful of anything but the blessed fact that 
she was not all alone ! The letter was quickly answered, 
and then followed a delightful correspondence with her 
two brothers, Harry and Eugene, and an occasional 


184 


HUBBUB. 


letter from the mother> and a new era thus commenced 
in Edith’s life. 

The rubber shop was neither profitable or pleasant, so 
one day Edith threw down the heavy shears with a 
crash, as she bowed her head on her hands. 

“ What’s the matter. Miss Lyton,” said kind Mrs. 
Rusk. 

“I am tired of lining soles,” said Edith, *‘and I don’t 
believe I will ever do another one so, suiting the 
action to the word, she gave her notice, and on the 
Saturday following took her meagre pay and departed. 

About the time Edith left the rubber shop, the sad 
news of sweet little Edith Felton’s death reached her ; 
and, sitting alone, she shed blinding tears, not for little 
angel Edie, but for the heart-broken father and mother. 
Tired and worn out with these and other sad thoughts, 
she fell asleep, and little Edie, with her spiritual face 
and dark-brown eyes, seemed looking at her. The child’s 
face shone out from a gilt-edged cloud, and with one 
tiny finger she pointed upward. Edith awoke with a 
start as Mrs. Barstow and Walter Charlton entered the 
room. 

“ What is the matter, little one ? ” said Walter. 

“ I have just received news of the death of my friend, 
Mrs. Felton’s little girl.” 

“ And you are crying over that, are you.? You had 
better save your tears.” 

Walter was in a savage mood, to-night ; so, after a 
few unfeeling remarks, he bade them good-night and re- 
tired to his own room. 


HUBBUB. 


185 


After a few weeks of trying in vain to obtain employ- 
ment in N. she returned to S., and as Mrs. Pelton was 
very lonely, she decided to remain with her for the 
winter. 

The winter was a dreary one to Mr, and Mrs. Pelton 
and Edith ; during this time Edith took in sewing when 
she could get any to do, and thus eked out an unenvi- 
able existence. 

Mrs. Worthy sent Edith a kind invitation to come .to 
Brooklyn and stop with her for a while and try to get 
employment there ; so in the early spring she again took 
up her weary search for work. Every morning she 
bought a New York Herald,” and eagerly perused 
its long list of advertisements, but on answering the 
most desirable of them they proved to be almost invaria- 
bly for canvassers. Growing desperate, Edith decided to 
undertake the sale of a book ; the advertisement claimed 
that one could make five dollars per day easily by sell- 
ing this new and desirable wqrk. The agent was a one- 
eyed man, with a greasy face and slovenly appearance ; 
he was determined that Edith should take this book to 
canvass with, and after some hesitation on her part, and 
much loud talk on his, the difficult task was undertaken. 
When Edith found herself out on the busy street, with 
the book in her hand, and thought of her strange mis- 
sion, her heart misgave her. Not until she had walked 
a long way, and through a number of streets, did she 
gain courage to ascend the stairs of a modest looking 
house, and after ringing the bell she awaited, with trem- 
bling frame and beating heart the opening of the door. 


HUBBUB. 


1 86 

Trying to control her quivering voice she said to the 
lady who answered her ring, 

“ I have a work called ‘ Palace and Hovel ’ which I am 
introducing to the public.” 

Edith’s well-prepared speech was here interrupted by 
the lady, saying, I have po time to bother with you ; 

I don’t want the book, and my meat will burn up ; ” so 
slam bang went the door, and Edith looked and felt like 
a sneak-thief as she descended to the street. On, on 
she went, not daring to face another woman and ask her 
to look at this wretched book. 

‘'This will never do,” she said, " I must be brave; ” 
and she dashed up to the next door, much as one would 
who was going to have a tooth extracted, and feared that 
delay would lessen their courage. This time the door 
was opened by a servant, and Edith had visions of an. 
old woman, who used to come around when she lived in 
S. and ask for the lady of the house. Her business 
was selling starch polish apd telling fortunes ; and when 
Edith compared herself to this ancient crone, the pic- 
ture was so perfectly ridiculous, that it was with great 
difficulty she straightened her face sufficiently to say 
“Is the lady of the house in ? ” 

She was shown into the parlor, where she had not 
long to wait. This time the lady was a very pleasant 
one, and although she declined to buy the book, she 
treated the little canvasser kindly. 

“If at first you don’t succeed try, try again,” rung in 
Edith’s ears, as she boldly tried to gain admittance to 
the next house. Her success here was no better, and 


HUBBUB, 


1 8; 

Edith clenched her small fist, and inwardly declared 
never again would she ring another bell, and subject 
herself to the torture of presenting a book or any other 
article to the public. She was in no enviable frame of 
mind when, an hour later, she entered the pleasant sit- 
ting-room of Mrs. Tyler, who had moved from W., and 
was now living in Brooklyn. 

“ I am sorry you have had such miserable luck, 
Edith,” said that good lady ; “ but there are better days 
coming ; trust in the Lord,, he will bring you out all 
right.” 

“Haven’t I trusted Him,” said Edith with desperation ; 
“ and see what I have^come to.” 

This last remark brought a smile to Mrs. Tyler’s face, 
and Edith, seeing it, burst into a nervous laugh, which 
almost ended in tears. 

Soon after this, she applied for a position in a large 
store in New York, and to her surprise obtained the 
place. The store had recently connected a restaurant 
with its many departments, so that a lady could come 
there and do shopping all day if she wished, without 
going outside to get her lunch. It was to fill a place in 
the restaurant, that Edith was hired, and for her ser- 
vices here she was to receive the liberal sum of five dollars 
per week. It is true, her car-fare cost her nearly one 
dollar of this small sum, and her board would take the 
rest, but it was the best she could do. 

This large store employed several hundred girls in dif- 
ferent capacities ; they were obliged to be on hand the 
moment the back door to the store was opened, and if 


HUBBUB. 


1 88 

any one was late, they were charged one cent per mo-, 
ment for any such transgression. Entering the rear 
door, after waiting some moments with a n^otley crowd 
at its portals, Edith ascended a long, winding flight of 
stairs which led to the girls’ dressing room. This was a 
rough, unfinished room, and served for a lunch place as 
well as a receptacle for outside garments. The girls of 
this fashionable store, were not permitted to go to their 
dinner, but were allowed twenty minutes for lunch, 
which they devoured as rapidly as possible, to be in 
their places as soon as the short time allotted to them 
had expired. A lady superintendent was at the head of 
the female portion of the help ; her name was Beastly, 
and her nature was worse than her name. 

Floor-walkers walked up and down their different de- 
partments, to insure order, and detect anything amiss in 
the clerks. Edith was told to stand behind a counter 
and wait upon the waiters, and attend, as far as possible, 
to the people who took their lunch at the counter. For 
the first two hours in the morning the restaurant was 
nearly empty of guests, and this time was devoted to 
setting everything in order. Such a scrubbing and rub- 
bing and rattling of silver ware, Edith had never before 
witnessed ; but this confusion was nothing to what fol- 
lowed, when the hungry multitude surged in, until every 
table and all the room at the counter was occupied j the 
noise was deafening. Edith wondered if she was herself 
or some other person ; the space behind her counter 
was so narrow that two people could hardly pass without 
tearing each other’s clothes, and Edith’s large apron 


HUBBUB, 189 

soon had a hole worn through it> in her constant contact 
with the counter-. 

There was neither time nor opportunity for these poor 
girls to eat their dinner, and not a mouthful passed their 
lips until the crowd gradually subsided, which did not 
occur before four o’clock in the afternoon, when they 
were allowed a lunch from the restaurant, and were told 
to eat it as soon as possible. Edith ate her lunch at the 
farther end of the room, behind an old show-case ; it 
was necessary for any girl, when eating her portion, not 
to be seen by any of the guests ; so if any one ap- 
proached Edith’s secluded spot she would receive vari- 
ous signals, from others of the help, to get out of sight 
so often, before her morsel was eaten, she had to hide 
herself behind, and almost under, the show-case, which 
made her feel, while engaged in this innocent necessity 
of life, that she was guilty of some disgraceful thing. 

For four days Edith clung bravely to her new calling, 
and no one but God knew what days of exquisite torture 
they were. Naturally sensitive and refined, the public- 
ity of this life was next to unbearable. 

At the end of the fourth day. Miss Winchester^ the 
floor-walker, sent for her and stated that they thought 
of placing her in another department. Edith expressed 
her pleasure at this new arrangement, and as her tired 
feet were passing by the superintendent’s desk, on her 
way to the dressing-room, she stopped and said to Miss 
Beastly, “Miss Winchester tells me that you propose 
to place me in another part of the store, and I am 
pleased, for I shall like it better than the restaurant.” 


190 


HUBBUB. 


Miss Beastly gave Edith a scornful glance , as she 
replied, “Yes; I am going to change you, but not 
because you are better suited for, or would be better 
pleased with the change, but because you do not get 
along at all well ; you are stupid, slow, and inefficient.” 

Edith looked like a hunted deer at bay. What could 
this woman mean ! She had never been called stupid 
in her life, and never been considered slow. She stood 
looking at Miss Beasthy, for an instant, with a vacant 
stare, and then, as the injustice of these accusations 
came seething through her brain, like liquid fire, she 
turned away without one word ; hastily putting on her 
hat and shawl, she descended the stairs and dashed out 
into the street. 

“What is the matter. Miss Lyton,” said a gentle 
voice close by her side. The speaker was a young girl, 
employed in the restaurant where Edith had been. 

Edith related in a. broken voice, often choked by 
tears, her conversation with Miss Beastly. 

“It is shameful,” said Edith’s friend ; “but I can see 
through the whole of it ; it is the work of that meddle- v 
some old maid. Miss Taylor. She is always making 
trouble for some one. I would not feel badly if I were 
you ; you are neither slow nor stupid.” 

Here their ways diverged, and Edith gave her sympa- 
thizer a hasty shake of the hand, and they parted to 
meet no more. 

All through that long ride on the horse-cars, Edith’s 
heart was heavy as lead. Was she accursed that 
she should be so troubled on every hand? When 


HUBBUB. 


191 

she had tried with almost superhuman energy to do her 
best, why did not Heaven recognize the effort and bless 
her ? All was blackness and doubt. She was obliged 
to cross the Grand street Ferry to reach her friend, 
Mrs. Worthy, Again she pushed her way through the 
crowd, and stood, as she had stood so many years before, 
looking into the dark water. She did not think to-night 
as she had then, that she would end her wretched life by 
one mad plunge, but she sadly compared that dreadful 
hour with this, and almost wished that she had ceased 
to exist at that time ; the long, unsatisfying years that 
she had lived since then, the weary years which might 
perchance stretch into the unknown future, made her 
shudder and grow sick at heart. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A STRUGGLE. 

W. D. Sharp was the wealthy proprietor of a certain 
high-toned fancy goods store in the city of S. Mr. 
Sharp was rightly named ; few men were possessed of 
such an untiring ability to pry into the mysteries con- 
nected with his own business, to say nothing of his 
interest in other people’s. 

If there was one person in the whole world whom 
Warren Sharp held in profound respect it was himself, 
and he was not satisfied with esteeming himself, but was 


HUBBUB. 


192 

determined that so far as his power extended he would 
compel the most cringing servitude. 

He walked the streets with his head thrown back, 
and with broad, heavy strides, seemed to be crushing 
the paVement under his feet, much as he would like to 
have crushed anything on which he had powet to set 
his heel. 

His store was as faultless as a store could be, for Mr. 
Sharp displayed rare taste in his selection of goods 
and in his arrangement of them. 

His clerks were all ladies, with the exception of one, 
Mr. Gaul by name, who was his right-hand man, and 
understood the store and its various contents quite as 
well as its owner. If Mr. Gaul’s life had been unlike 
his name, up to the time he entered Mr, Sharp’s employ, 
I am sure that after this eventful period of his existence 
he was, figuratively speaking, well accustomed to the 
bitterness of both gall and wormwood. It was such a 
supreme delight for Mr. Sharp to have some one near 
him on whom he could, at any time, when the turbid 
stream of his tyrannical nature overflowed, let its bitter 
waters fall. Almost any man but Mr. Gaul would have 
told Mr. Sharp, in the midst of his unreasonable fury, 
to go to a very warm place ; and thus, in the course of 
profanity and violence, their business relations would 
have come to a sudden close. 

Mr. Gaul was well paid for his forbearance, and so he 
tightly shut his teeth until each storm subsided, think- 
ing all the time that discretion was the better part of 
valor; so he pocketed Mr. Sharp’s shining dollars, — 


HUBBUB. 


193 

the price of cringing to a tyrant, — and swallowed, as 
best he could, the insults heaped upon him. 

Mn Sharp would have preferred to employ more gen- 
tleman clerks, but as most men would not submit to be- 
coming cringing cowards, he was obliged to employ 
ladies. Sometimes, in fact quite often, a lady would rebel 
against his authority, and this was always attended with 
a fearful battle of words, during which combat, Mr. Sharp 
outstripped the offender both in strength of language 
and in quantity. 

There was just one person in his employ who dared to 
use almost as strong terms as himself, and who did not 
hesitate to tell him what she thought of him ; this per- 
son was his book-keeper, — Miss Darewell. 

Warren Sharp would not have endured what he was 
obliged to from Miss Darewell, had it been easy for him 
to fill her place ; he was fully aware of her superior 
abilities, and feeling fearful that it would be a case of 
cutting your nose off to spite your face, he allowed the 
offender to remain. 

Thus it was that, with trembling frame and strong 
misgivings, Edith Lyton accepted a place in W. D. 
Sharp’s store. Edith would never have possessed cour- 
age to apply to Mr. Sharp for a place in his employ, for 
his reputation was well known throughout the city of S., 
but a kind friend of hers, wishing to do her a favor, 
went to see Mr. Sharp, and by speaking highly in 
Edith’s praise, obtained the place for her. 

Mr. Sharp was in his most affable mood on the morn- 
ing that Edith commenced her services for him. He 


94 


HUBBUB. 


said, Miss Lyton, I want some one who is universally 
pleasant to customers ; I noticed, when I first conversed 
with you, that you possessed a very agreeable manner; 
this fact led me to hire you.” All this and much more 
Mr. Sharp said on this occasion. 

Edith was to receive four dollars per week for the first 
two months, and then five dollars per week for the three 
months following. This waa small pay, and it was with 
difficulty that Edith succeeded in getting boarded cheap 
enough to make her wages cover her expenses ; but at 
last the place was secured, and Edith found a kind friend 
and pleasant home with Mrs. Sands. For three weeks 
after Edith entered W. D. Sharp’s employ, everything 
went smoothly, and that gentleman expressed himself 
perfectly satisfied with his new clerk. Some of Edith’s 
fr.ends said, “ Well, it is perfectly remarkable that you 
have been in Mr. Sharp’s store for three weeks, and 
thus far escaped his wrath.” Others said, I guess you 
have woven a spell over him.” 

But Edith replied. ‘‘ I do not think it would be possi- 
ble for any one to charm W. D. Sharp out of his bad 
temper, and although I have escaped his displeasure 
thus far, I feel all the time as if I was walking on the 
verge of a volcano, which might any moment send forth 
fire and destruction. 

Every morning when Edith prepared for her daily 
work, it was with a silent prayer that she might be kept 
from this man’s furious temper, and every night, as she 
wended her way home, after working hours were over, 


HUBBUB. 195 

she lifted her heart in thankfulness for God’s merciful 
preservation. 

Edith Lyton loved many people, and her affection was 
returned in full measure by loving hearts. Being natu- 
rally possessed of quick sympathies and good judgment, 
she was on many accounts a most desirable friend. 

The inner life of many a poor disheartened soul had 
been laid bare to her, and the secrets of each and every 
one were treasured in her heart of hearts, as securely as 
if the grave had closed over them. But Edith found it 
impossible to disclose the secrets of her own life to any 
of these dear ones. Sometimes the tightly-closed door 
of her heart would open just wide enough to show that, 
enclosed within its sacred precincts, were bitter trials, 
grevious to be borne ; and then Edith always changed 
the subject, and her friends remained in ignorance of 
her heart’s secrets. This was not because Edith was so 
secretive, but it was owing to a certain want of harmony 
between these people and herself, and she felt that were 
she to try to make them comprehend the great wants of 
her nature, its struggles, or its failures, she would be 
talking in an incomprehensible way to them, so she 
wisely held her peace. 

Years ago there had dawned upon her life a friend- 
ship, which seemed, in its purity and harmony, to Edith’s 
visionary eyes, like the perfection of earthly love. Edith 
had first met this much-loved friend, during her fre- 
quent visits to sweet Helen Hammond’s sick bed, when 
their hands had first touched each other in the con- 
ventional form of an introduction. Edith felt a thrill 


196 


HUBBUB, 


of pleasure she had never experienced before, and 
when the beautiful brown eyes of Phemie Stedman 
looked for the first time into her own, she felt that she 
looked, not upon her outward literal self, but through 
all this, and deeper, into her very soul ; and Edith was 
not alone in her powerful attraction, for Phemie Sted- 
man felt an uncommon interest in Edith Lyton. 

The friendship thus begun, grew until in Edith’s 
heart it had gained gigantic proportions ; woven into 
every thread and fibre of her nature was this strong, 
passionate love. It is true that one dreadful foreboding 
fear had stolen some of the sweetness from Edith’s 
otherwise perfect love, and this was the gaunt shadow 
of a coming time when something should separate her 
from Phemie Stedman’s love. 

Phemie laughed at her fears, and kissed away the 
last shadow of doubt from Edith’s brow, saying, as she 
did so, “Nothing but death, darling, shall ever come 
between you and me.” 

Years had passed since then, and Phemie Stedman, 
who possessed superior talents, had climbed far up the 
ladder of fame ; the works her pen had written had 
been widely read, and the author of them flattered and 
caressed by the multitude, until, surrounded by the 
glitter and din of success, she had carelessly allowed 
her love for Edith Lyton to wither and die. 

When the first knowledge of Phemie’s growing in- 
difference slowly dawned upon Edith, it seemed as if 
her heart must break, and, struggling against these 
fearful doubts, she hoped against hope that Phemie’s 


HUBBUB. 


197 


heart was still her own, and, wishing to prove it, like a 
man at the gambling-table, who finds his fortune nearly 
melted away, tries, by one grand, desperate effort, to 
retrieve his losses, by staking his last penny on a game 
of chance ; the game is over, and he staggers forth a 
ruined man. So Edith only discovered, what she 
should have known before, that Phemie Stedman’s 
heart and head were full of other things, and that new 
friends had more than filled her place. 

When Edith had first entered W. D. Sharp’s store, 
she had learned of the severe illness of her once 
idolized friend Phemie ; she asked no questions, but, as 
days passed by, she learned through the idle conversa- 
tion of various people, that Miss Stedman was better, 
and was going away from S. to be gone for some months, 
in the hopes of recovering her health by travel and 
change. 

The day at length arrived when the noted Miss Sted- 
man was to take her departure, and the fact was com- 
mented upon freely both in Mr. Sharp’s store, and at 
Mrs. Sand’s boarding-house, and poor Edith felt as if 
she could not bear to hear the name which had once 
been so full of music to her, and since so full of anguish, 
mentioned in her presence again; neither could she 
endure to let her old friend go forth on her uncertain 
journey without one word from her; so, taking her 
pen, she wrote a few words hastily, and mailed the 
letter, thinking that the one for whom it was designed 
would not receive it until it would be too late for her 
to attempt an interview, which Edith was far from de- 


198 


HUBBUB. 


siring. Unfortunately, clerks are not the mere machines 
they are supposed to be. 

On this eventful day, Edith’s mind could not be con- 
fined within the narrow limits of Mr. Sharp’s store ; in 
vain she tried to narrow her thoughts down to the 
buttons she was showing to customers, but mingling 
all unbidden with fringe, lace, ribbons, gloves, and many 
other articles, was the sad memory of her shattered 
friendship. 

It was well for Edith that the head of this establish- 
ment was in New York, buying goods, for nothing ever 
escaped his eagle eyes, and Edith’s preoccupation must 
have been noticed, and severely reprimanded by W. D. 
Sharp. 

It was towards night now, and the tyrant was ex- 
pected back at any moment. It had been a dreary day, 
and as business was not driving, Edith was sent to the 
lower end of the store to sew buttons on to a sample 
card. It was a task she had never had before, and Mr. 
Gaul, taking up one of the cards, told her that she had 
not done it just right, and kindly showed her the proper 
way to fasten each button. 

Just then a clerk came to Edith and said, “ there is a 
lady up at the glove counter who wishes to see you.” 

Edith felt as if every drop of blood in her body was 
slowly turning to ice, as her eyes fell upon her old and 
much-loved friend. 

“ I just received your note Edith,” she said, and I 
could not go away without saying good-by.” That 
word good-by ” sounded in Edith’s ears like the “ dust 


HUBBUB. 


199 


to dust, ashes to ashes ” said over an open grave, and 
starting with a shudder, she said, '' No, not good by, 
Phemie ; I don’t like that word. ” 

‘'Well, only good-night, then, little friend.” 

There were a few other murmuring words, and Phemie 
bought some gloves, while Edith waited upon her with 
frozen composure ; and then, a warm shake of Edith’s 
icy hand, and Phemie was gone. No ! not gone, for in 
another moment she had turned back once more, and 
taking Edith’s two little cold hands in hers, said, “ Good 
night, — not good-by,” and then all seemed blackness to 
Edith. 

She groped her way to the dressing-room, and bathed 
her numb fingers and chilly face with cold water, and 
tried to compose herself ; and then blessed tears came 
to her relief. We said blessed tears ; they would have 
been so, but for the fact that Edith was hired body and 
soul to attend in W. D. Sharp’s store, and consequently 
these tears were accursed. 

Taking her place once more in the store, she discov- 
ered that D. W. had arrived ; in fact it would not take 
the most indifferent person long to become aware of this 
fact ; for there was a certain feeling which possessed 
every one in his presence. You often felt him near 
when you did not see him. He soon gave Edith a 
searching glance and noticed the traces of tears on her 
face. 

“ What is the matter. Miss Lyton,” he said blandly ; 
*‘has any one been abusing you ” 

“ No sir. I have been feeling badly about something 


200 


HUBBUB. 


not connected with the store. I am all over it now,” 
she said with a bright smile. 

After considering the subject, W. D. Sharp decided 
that Edith had no right to let anything outside of his 
store trouble her, and he begun to feel that she had 
infringed on his rights by so doing. 

On the following day, as Edith was selling a blue veil 
to a lady, Mr. Sharp came up to her, and giving one of 
his most withering looks he commenced hostilities with, 
** Miss Lyton, I want you to understand that while you 
are in my employ you must not allow any personal mat- 
ter to interfere with my business.” 

Edith was doing her best when her employer pounced 
upon her. She did not make him any reply, and bit her 
lips until the blood came, trying to keep down her 
feelings. The lady who was her customer at the mo- 
ment, gave her a look of intense sympathy, and this 
nearly made her break down. 

It was noon at last, and she could cry ; and she did 
cry, until she thought she never should be able to go 
back to Sharp’s store in the afternoon ; but some kind 
friend cheered her up, and rubbed her inflamed eyes 
with magnesia, so that she made quite a respectable 
appearance. 

This opening skirmish was the beginning of war, if a 
combat fought by one can be called a warfare. 

Edith stood almost as much in terror of W. D. Sharp 
as she would of a Bengal tiger. From this time forth 
he lost no opportunity to rave at her, and always took 
the time when she had a customer. 


HUBBUB. 


201 


One day a lady came up to Edith with a tiny scrap of 
farmer’s satin, and said she would like to get something 
like it if possible. Edith showed her the different pieces 
of farmer’s satin, and the lady decided that one of them 
was an exact match, so she said she would take two 
yards and a half. Edith quickly measured it off, and 
after paying for it the lady departed. 

In the afternoon of the same day the sharp tones of 
W. D.’s voice sounded through the store, as he screamed, 
“Miss Lyton, did you sell this lady some farmer’s 
satin ? ” 

“ Yes sir,” said Edith. 

“ Well, did you sell it for green ? ” 

“No sir. I sold it to match a small piece she had in 
her hand ; I showed her all that we had and she matched 
it herself.” 

“ What right had she to match it } ” he yelled. “ I 
hire my clerks to do that, did you not know that there 
was no color in the store but black ? ” 

“ No, sir, I did not,” said Edith. 

“ Well it’s your business to know it ; that is what I 
pay you for ; take the lady down to the farmer’s satins, 
and see if the piece of brown we have will match her 
sample.” 

Edith did as she was requested, but of course brown 
and green are more different than a dark invisible green 
and black ; so the brown would not answer. Walking 
back through the long store, to where W. D. stood she 
said, with a desperate effort, “ the brown does not match ; 
what shall I do ” 


202 


HUBBUB. 


“Pay her back her money,” he said; “all through 
your stupidity.” 

For three weary months Edith remained here, bearing 
more than she would have believed it possible for her to 
endure. Not only did her soul revolt against the injus- 
tice heaped upon herself, but she was daily made indig- 
nant at the gross wrongs she had to witness to others. 
One stormy day, the clerks were vainly trying to busy 
themselves, — for W. D. Sharp did not like to see any one 
idle, even if there was nothing to do ; so the girls would 
search for broken boxes and mend them, and for loose 
buttons to sew on to cards ; and, in fact, for anything 
that could give them the appearance of industry. On 
such days as this, they could sit down to their work ; 
there was no rule to prevent the clerks from sitting 
down, for W. D. Sharp considered himself a most 
humane man ; and therefore he did not say to his clerks, 
“You are expected to stand all day long, whether you 
have any one to wait on or not ; ” but he meant it all the 
same ; and if a weary girl dropped on to a stool during 
the day, he would give her a demoniac look, which meant, 
“ how dare you take a seat during the busy part of the 
day!” 

As evening approached, these poor, tired slaves could 
rest their weary limbs on the edge of an open drawer, 
and be ready to spring if occasion required. 

On this particular day of which we write, there was 
a storm outside and a worse one within. Mr. Sharp and 
his bookkeeper were having one of their old-fashioned 
rows. W. D. looked like a crazy man, as he threw his 


HUBBUB. 


203 


arms up in the air, telling her that “he hired her to do 
something, but that she was a lazy thing, and sat 
perched on the high stool at his desk from morning 
until night, doing nothing.” 

Miss Darewell was calmly insulting as she said, “ I 
notice I do plenty of things that you never spoke of 
when you hired me.” 

“ ni not bear it,” screamed W. D. 

“ You can do as you please,” retorted the angry book- 
keeper. ^ 

It is time you got out of this desk,” he said, hitting 
the stool she sat on at the same moment with his boot 

“ I shall leave it to-night at about the same time you 
do,” replied Miss Darewell. 

It was a fearful jargon of words and sounds, during 
which Miss Darewell told him he had been as ugly as 
his Satanic majesty all day. How W. D. ever swallowed 
this last remark we cannot imagine, but he did; and at 
last quietness was restored. 

Edith dreaded the next few days, for she knew, from 
former experience, that on some other poor defenceless 
head would fall all the pent-up vials of W. D’s. wrath. 
As she was coming to the store next morning she met 
Miss Grant, a young lady who worked at the same 
place, and together they pursued their way to the store. 

“ Some of us poor, unfortunate wretches will have to 
catch it to-day, Edith,” she said. 

“ Yes ; and I feel just as if he was going to seize me 
as his victim, Grace.” 

“ Well, it may be I, and if so I am prepared for the 


204 


HUBBUB, 


worst ; he can’t more than kill me, and I have got so I 
don’t mind him as I used to do.” 

Miss Grant was W. D.’s special scape goat, and Edith 
had frequently heard him talk fearfully to her. 

“ I don’t see how you can feel so unconcerned Grace,” 
she said. 

Just then the store was reached, and with silence they 
entered its dreadful preicincts. Edith said “good morn- 
ing Mr. Sharp but that gentleman answered only with 
a growl. Edith saw with dismay, as she came out of the 
dressing room, that W. D. was standing behind her 
counter, and instinctively she felt that her time had 
come. With trembling fingers she began to uncover 
the big boxes of special bargains which stood on the 
counter. In this trying moment she had forgotten to 
dust the counter and in an instant W. D. opened fire. 

“ Do you uncover goods before your dusting is done, 
Miss Lyton } ” he said in a furious tone of voice. 

Edith’s voice trembled slightly, as she answered, “ No, 
sir. I thought — ” 

“ What right had you to think ; you know you are 
always expected to dust everything on the counter, and 
take out all the boxes on the lower shelf, and dust them, 
before uncovering anything,” and here the enormity of 
her offence gained such dire proportions in his brain, 
that he almost danced up and down as he continued, 
“ Why Miss Lyton, if you can’t work for my interest I 
had better fill your place with some one who can ; do 
you hear?” 


HUBBUB, 


205 


“ Yes sir,” said Edith in a trembling voice. But W. 
D. did not propose to stop yet, he had power over a 
quivering, sensitive piece of flesh and blood and he was 
determined to have full satisfaction. So he slashed to 
the right and left with his tongue which was keener 
than any two-edged sword. 

At last he said again, “ I will have some one in your 
place who pleases me, do you understand } ” 

“ I understand, Mr. Sharp, but I don’t think such a 
person exists,” replied Edith. 

This was unexpected. tell you Miss Lyton that I 
will not be answered back, there is just one person in 
this store who dares to do it and I won’t have two.” 

“You can do just as you please,” said Edith. 

“ Perhaps I had best go to the desk and settle your 
account Miss Lyton.” 

“ Certainly you had, if I don’t suit you.” 

Mr. Sharp had not expected this, for he liked Edith 
and so did his customers ; he felt ill natured, and thought 
to spite his bad temper on her ; he hesitated a moment, 
but he could not bring his mind to relent, and Edith 
would have died before she would have begged pardon 
of a man who had goaded her on to the verge of desper- 
ation. 

So W. D. went to his desk and made out her account, 
throwing the money at her, so that a portion of it rolled 
on to the floor. She gathered together the hardly-won 
pelf, and without giving W. D. a “ thank-you” for the 
money he had so rudely paid her, she left his store 


206 


HUBBUB. 


where she had been so wretched, and had cringed again 
and again to a low tyrant. 

“ Whether I sink or swim, live or die, I am glad I am 
free from the degrading servitude that man imposes on all 
who work for him.” These were her reflections, as she 
walked away from the place which had long been a hate- 
ful one to her. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

SIMON FLINT. 

Edith next learned of a place in the city of B., and 
lost no time in addressing a letter to Simon Flint, 
the proprietor of a large confectionery establishment 
there. 

She received a prompt reply, stating he was much 
pleased with the tone of her letter, and that he would 
give her employment provided they could make terms 
satisfactory. He wrote, I can get plenty of good help 
for three and four dollars per week.” 

Edith’s first thought was the uselessness of answer- 
ing the letter, as the small pay would not warrant her a 
living ; but on second consideration, she decided to 
write once more, to say how impossible it would be to 
work for four dollars a week, but that she would gladly 


HUBBUB. 


207 


come for one dollar per day. “I know,” she added, “it 
is very poor taste to speak in praise of one’s self, but as 
I have no one to speak for me, I will say that, in a 
business like yours, it is a great advantage to possess 
honesty in your employees. I can sincerely say that 
during the number of years I worked for Carter & Co . 
in this city, I never took one pound of candy without 
paying for it.” 

This last recommendation proved to be irresistible to 
Simon Flint, so he at once wrote her a letter offering 
her five dollars, which was more than he was paying any 
girl in his manufactory. 

Edith accepted the situation, and at once packed her 
trunk and prepared herself for a new field of labor. 

It was with much difficulty that she secured a board- 
ing-place, from the fact that her salary was so small 
the necessity for something cheap and respectable 
made the task a difficult one. This obstacle overcome, 
she started for an interview with Simon Flint. 

The store of which this gentleman was sole proprietor 
was a long one, and at its extreme lower end was a black 
walnut railing, which enclosed a corner and little more, 
devoted to the uses of an office ; two desks were in this 
carpeted enclosure, one smaller than the other, at which 
sat a lady, busily writing ; her hair was red, but appeared 
to have been oiled profusely, to detract, if possible, 
from its brilliant hue. Her teeth protruded slightly, 
and it was with an effort that she could close her lips ; 
consequently, her mouth was half open, disclosing a 
set of very large teeth, which looked not unlike grave- 


208 


HUBBUB. 


stones. She was small in stature, not measuring five 
feet, and exceedingly slight, almost angular, in propor- 
tions. Such was Simon Flint’s bookkeeper and general 
assistant. He was seated in a chair, with both hands 
in his pockets, and his feet on the railing; he seemed to 
be looking through time and space with a pair of very 
black eyes. So absorbed was he in his reflections, that 
he did not notice Edith as she approached him, and 
waited respectfully for him to speak. 

After a moment she said, “ Is Mr. Flint in ? ” 

The black eyes turned slowly in the direction of her 
voice, as he said, in a very husky tone, ** my name is 
Flint.” 

“ I am Miss Lyton, Mr. Flint.” 

“ I am happy to meet you, Miss Lyton,” he quickly 
' replied, springing to his feet, and reaching out his hand. 
After a few hasty inquiries concerning her boarding- 
place, and a hurried glance at Edith’s recommendations, 
it was decided that she should commence work on the 
following day. 

The help of Flint’s establishment were all obliged to 
ride on an elevator to the sixth story of the building, 
where the candy was made, and Edith felt almost lost 
in the crowd which roughly jostled each other, as they 
sprang upon the freight elevator which conveyed them 
to their destination. Coarse jokes and boisterous laugh- 
ter between the men and women, made her feel ashamed 
of her surroundings. 

The manufactory was one immense room, stretching ^ 
the entire length and breadth of the building, without 


HUBBUB. 


209 


one partition, with the exception of a rudely constructed 
dressing-room, where the girls hung their outside gar- 
ments, and a small starch-drying room, in which an 
Italian made gum drops, and many other French candies. 
The dressing-room was located where there had once 
been a flight of stairs, and rough boards, far too slender 
to bear the weight of ten or eleven girls, composed the 
floor ; the old banisters still remained, and to these a 
partition of unpainted boards was nailed ; it boasted no 
roof, nor did it need one. The door was old, and might 
have belonged to some barn in its more prosperous 
days, for it had been made to roll back and forth on 
rollers; but as these were out of order, the dressing- 
room door was a useless ornament. The room con- 
tained no mirror, and its occupants were obliged to 
appeal to each other to settle the momentous question 
of personal appearance. 

Edith had been hired to work in the packing depart- 
ment; this consisted in weighing candy all day, and 
packing it in wooden boxes containing twenty-five 
pounds each. Her first day was a dreadful one, and 
long before night her hands were bleeding, with their 
rough contact with gritty sugar and hard candy ; but it 
was not her hands which gave her the most trouble, for 
her whole frame, unaccustomed as she was to lifting, 
trembled with weariness and quivered with pain. There 
was one bright spot in that weary day, which came in 
the shape of a fair young girl. Belle Fowler by name. 
She was as much out of place in this rough spot as 
Edith. Belle was a jewel of rare value, but the setting 


210 


HUBBUB. 


to her life was what brass would be to pearls, or copper 
to diamonds. The^ each brought their dinners, and so, 
on this, Edith’s first day. Belle gently introduced her- 
self, and they took dinner together. 

There was a poor, miserable specimen of a cat belong- 
ing to this place, and above the roar of machinery and 
conflicting noises, Edith could hear the pitiful cry of 
puss. As Belle and Edith were eating their Itinch the 
cat’s cry was still more distinct, for the machinery was 
still now, and the large room almost empty. 

“ She cries like that all the time, and she is as wild as 
can be,” said Belle. 

“ Let us try and tame her,” said Edith ; “it will be so 
nice for you and I to have a pet.” And away Edith 
flew on her benevolent mission. 

At first kitty refused to make friends, but after 
repeated attempts, the little .black and white cat became 
as tame as they could desire, and a very pretty picture 
she made, sitting up so straight, with her black tail 
curled around her white feet, taking dinner with them. 
Edith named her “ Capitola,” a name Belle and herself 
easily remembered but not so with Tommy Rag, who 
could never think of it, but would constantly call her 
“ Capola,” or “ what’s her name.” , 

This Tommy Rag was a great feature in this estab- 
lishment, he was the striker for the man who made stick 
candy, and a comical personage was Mr. Rag, as the 
girls used to call him. He was but little above four 
feet, his head was large and square, and badly compared 
with his little compact body. His vrorking garb con- 


HUBBUB, 


2II 


sisted of a very ragged pair of brick-colored overalls, 
while his woollen undershirt was tattered and torn ; but 
the most conspicuous thing was his feet, encased in a 
pair of shoes which were the cast-off property of some 
six-footer, and made Tommy look as if he had been in 
tended for a tall man, but too much of his length of 
limb had been wasted in bending his feet in the wrong 
place. 

Tommy was not a beautiful character, but a nuisance 
in m*any ways ; sometimes when Edith’s back was 
turned, her ears would catch the sound of a volume of 
profanity such as one seldom hears in a lifetime, and she 
could hardly credit her senses when she knew it pro- 
ceeded from that little bunch of pomposity ; and so he 
was one of the most unpleasant companions of her daily 
toil. 

The worK wnicn Simon Flint expected his girls in the 
packing-room to do, was unsuitable for any one but a 
man to perform, and Edith realized every day that if she 
long continued this unreasonable exertion, it would be 
at the expense of her health. But what should she do } 
Many of her friends, or those professing to be, had 
made the most unkind remarks in connection with the 
frequent changes she had made in business, since she 
left the employ of Carter & Co. ; it is true, she was 
under no obligation to these same people, but neverthe- 
less their criticisms had deeply grieved her. She had 
refused one place where she would be obliged to rise at 
five in the morning and remain standing all day, not 
leaving the store even for her meals, until nine in the 


212 


HUBBUB, 


evening for one week, and the next, and every alternate 
one, she was to be in this store by seven, never leaving 
until the restaurant closed, — sometimes eleven, twelve, 
or one o’clock at night ; and then she was to sleep in 
the room with some half a dozen Irish girls who attended 
in the restaurant. Because Edith had dared to refuse 
such a place as this, people had said, “ Well, I guess she 
does not want to work very much, or she would be glad 
enough to get a place like that, for three dollars a week 
and her board,” and they had predicted, before she died 
she might be very glad to work harder for much less 
pay. 

Mr. Flint used to take a daily survey of his manufac- 
turing department, at which time he walked through the 
large room with a long, swinging gait, his head bent 
forward, and both hands under his coat-tails, causing 
them to assume a horizontal position. Sometimes he 
would stop by Edith’s side, and make a few remarks, but 
never did he linger after the slight frame and red hair of 
his book-keeper came in sight. There was something 
strange, almost ridiculous, in the power this little, 
withered specimen of humanity exercised over Simon 
Flint. He was a man who feared neither God nor the 
devil, but one glance from this woman was sufficient to 
bend him to her will, and if she conceived a dislike for 
any of the employees, their doom was sealed from that 
moment She delighted in exercising her power, and it 
was really laughable to see the amount of cringing there 
was done in Flint’s establishment ; not to Flint, but to 
the power behind him, who controlled, in full measure 


HUBBUB. 


213 


all the business interests of the place. . Miss Damon, 
for this was her name, had decided from the moment 
Edith first shook hands with Mr. Flint, on the day she 
introduced herself, that he had been too cordial to her, 
a stranger; and, furthermore, that he had looked thor- 
oughly pleased with Miss Ly ton’s personal appearance, 
and she had settled the question in her own mind at 
once, that Edith’s stay in this place should be a short 
one 

There are laws for almost every condition of exist- 
ence, — to prevent cruelty to animals and protect the 
rights of every living thing ; but alas ! there are none to 
interfere with the injustice and cruelty dealt out to many 
a woman who lives in this fair land of equal rights and 
privileges ! Many a girl is compelled to stand through 
long, continuous hours, who, after years of this unnatural 
servitude, sinks forgotten into an untimely grave; or, 
worse still, lives on through hopeless years of suffering ! 
What cared Simon Flint that the girls employed by him 
were lifting, every day of their lives, burdens which were 
only fit for strong arms to carry ; he could hire these 
girls for almost nothing, and when they were worn out, 
there was a hungry jostling crowd grasping eagerly for 
their places ; so it only concerned him that they accom- 
plished the work, and at the same time helped to fill his 
coffers with wealth. Simon Flint is not alone, for, 
throughout the length and breadth of our land, the 
despairing cry of thousands of perishing women mingles 
in the din of rapidly accumulating gold, and curses him, 
who for the sake of self-aggrandizement, is willing to 


214 


HUBBUB. 


wring out the last drop of heart’s blood from the suffer- 
ing multitude ! 

Mr. Marvel, the engineer in this large building, was 
every inch a true and noble man, — head and shoulders 
above most who bear the form of manliness, but lack its 
soul. In many an unobtrusive way he showed acts of 
kindness to Edith and Belle, and many a pleasant noon 
did they spend in the cheerful room adjoining the engine- 
room. He was very fond of pets, and had a little gray 
kitten, with which the girls never tired of playing. 
“Baby Marvel,” they called her, and with a red ribbon, 
on which hung a tiny bell, around her little neck, it 
made a very pretty picture ; it would play with its tail 
and scratch and bite with all the liberty a kitten ever 
possessed. 

Two months had passed and Edith asked for a few 
days’ absence to visit her old friend, Mrs. Worthy, of 
New York. Her request was granted and she felt like 
a bird let out of its prison, when she found herself once 
more in the cars bound for more congenial surroundings. 
The week quickly passed, however, and Edith again re- 
turned to Mr. Flint’s store, but not to work, for he in- 
formed her that he had filled her place with another girl, 
who was better suited for the rough work he required ; 
“ but,” said he, I think I can get you the right kind of a 
place. I have a friend, who wants a lady to tend a con- 
fectionery counter. I will write to him at once con- 
cerning you.” 

Edith waited for one week, hoping to hear something 
definite from this place, but failing in this, she left word 


HUBBUB. 


215 


for Mr. Flint to communicate with her as soon as he 
should hear, and Edith bade Belle Fowler good-by. 
Poor Belle ! her face looked almost hopeless, as she 
parted from her new friend, and again Edith turned her 
back on a most unsatisfactory experience. It was some 
time before she heard from Mr. « Flint, and then it 
was only a short reply to a letter she had sent him, tell- 
ing her that his friend had filled the place before re- 
ceiving his letter. Mrs. Waymouth, the lady with whom 
Edith boarded, was always doing some little thing to 
help her, and every kind word, every gentle action was 
fully appreciated^by Edith. Every cloud has its silver 
lining,” thought she, and Mrs. Waymouth and Belle 
Fowler are the bright lining to the otherwise black 
cloud which overshadowed my life while working for 
Mr. Flint. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

GILDED CLOUDS. 

After Edith received the first letter from her step- 
mother she experienced never failing delight in the 
correspondence which followed. After a little time she 
received a long letter from her brother Henry, who had 
consecrated his life to the church. He wrote, Had I 
remained in the world, dear sister, I might have helped 
you more in worldly things, but I feel assured that my 


2I6 


HUBBUB. 


prayers shall bring down upon your head blessings which 
no earthly prosperity could give, and I trust the time is 
not far distant when you shall experience the same 
faith which enriches my life, and I believe that grace 
shall triumph and you will yet become a saintly, holy 
catholic.” 

Edith read these words with conflicting emotions ; it 
was delightful to feel that she had a brother who loved 
her and prayed for her ; on the other hand it was sad to 
think that in religious belief they must ever be at 
variance. The island where Edith’s brothers were born 
was almost exclusively inhabited by firm adherents to 
the Roman Catholic church, and although Captain 
Lyton was very far from being a Catholic, he made no 
interference with the religious belief of his second wife ; 
hence her two children had been brought up, in the 
strictest sense of the word, Roman Catholic. It was 
with an almost breaking heart that Henry’s mother first 
learned that her darling boy wished to consecrate his 
life to the services of the church, as this would necessi- 
tate his separation from her; but when she found his 
heart was fixed on this ennobling self-sacrifice she 
sought no more to change his purpose, and none but 
God knew what the struggle of that mother’s heart had 
been. With blinding tears she bent over him, the last 
night he slept at home, and, smoothing the wavy hair 
back from his noble forehead, pressed kiss after kiss 
upon his unconscious face — a face so like one she had 
worshipped in other days ; he was her first born, and 
with all a mother’s fondness she had dreamed and 


HUBBUB, 


217 


planned for that young life, and how differently had she 
imagined his future ! She had seen him grow to man^ 
hood the support and comfort of her declining years, 
and now, with the fresh dew of childhood still upon him, 
with the fair flowers of earthly pleasure yet ungathered, 
he was to devote his life — not a few years, but the 
whole of life, to a consecrated existence ; when she 
should look upon that same dear face again, if ever, he 
would not be her beardless boy, but a man with cleanly 
shaven face, wearing the garb of his sacred calling. It 
was a glorious calling, and she upbraided herself that 
she could for one moment, in her mother’s heart, 
treasure one object above her love for Christ and his 
Holy Church. So when they parted she smiled through 
her thickly falling tears as she pressed him in one long, 
long, lingering embrace, and bade him “God speed.” 
After Henry had departed from the island of his birth 
for the distant monastery in Holland, where he was to be 
educated for this divine mission, Mrs. Lyton and Eugene 
led a very quiet life, unbroken by any startling event ; 
and they were almost wild with delight when a gentle- 
man, at the request of Edith’s friend, had sought them, 
and communicated the little he knew concerning the 
unknown daughter and sister. With great anxiety they 
had waited for her first letter, and when at last it came, 
they were jubilant with joy ; other letters followed, and 
after a while, her picture. With what deep interest 
they examined this shadow of the face of one, who 
although unknown by a personal acquaintance, was still 


2i8 


HUBBUB, 


united to them by the most endearing ties. Mrs. Lyton 
did not possess a picture of her husband, and it had 
been the source of many a deeply-felt regret that 
Eugene had never seen his father ; but soon after the 
correspondence between Edith and her unknown relatives 
commenced, Mrs. Lyton ascertained that Edith possessed 
a good picture of her husband ; it was a very small one 
and was contained in a locket, the gift of her father. As 
soon as possible she went to an artist and had this little 
picture copied, and sent the copy to her friends, Mrs. 
Lyton and Eugene uncovered this precious picture from 
its many wrappings, with almost reverent feelings, and 
upon placing it in a good light they gazed long upon the 
dear, dear face. 

“I am so glad,” said Eugene softly, “that I know how 
my father looked ; I have often imagined his face, but 
this is almost the reality — is it not mamma.? ” 

“ Yes, Eugene, it is very like him ; the grave cannot 
rob me of his face any longer, for while I have this 
picture to look upon I shall almost feel your father is 
with us.” 

Two years had passed since Edith had received the 
first letter from her distant friends, and in each letter 
Edith had received, they had expressed a great anxiety 
to have her visit them, or, better still, tried to prevail 
upon her to turn her back upon her native land, and 
adopt their little island for her future abiding-place. 
Edith had given them a slight account of W. D. Sharp 
and his treatment of her, and so Eugene wrote ; 


HUBBUB. 


219 


My Dearest Sister. — Do not stay in the States 
any longer, compelled to endure the repeated insults of 
any and every commoner, but come to us and we will 
shield you and love you always, and if dear mamma 
should be taken from me, I shall then have a sister to 
love who will also love me.” 

Thus, in almost every letter did they urge her to 
come to them. But there were two serious obstacles to 
prevent this undertaking ; first the expense attending 
it ; and second, the great danger of fever, which so many 
times proved fatal in the acclimation of foreigners. 

When Edith was thrust out from the employ of 
Simon Flint she returned to her friend Mrs. Worthy, 
remaining there two months. One day as she was care- 
lessly looking through the advertisements in the Herald 
her eyes fell upon the glaring figures $15,000, $8,ooo> 
$5,000, $2,500, principal prizes in the next great draw- 
ing of the Kentucky State Lottery, now is your chance 
to make a fortune ; $15,000 for one dollar. 

Edith read the tempting advertisement through, and 
dropping the paper, she quickly arrayed herself in hat 
and shawl saying to Mrs. Worthy, “ I am going out a 
little way, will be back soon.” 

I know I shall lose it, thought Edith ; every one does 
who invests : but desperate diseases need desperate 
remedies. My case is a desperate one. If I win it will 
lift me out of my present misfortunes ; if I lose, it will 
neither ‘make nor break.’ ” 

The office to which she directed her steps was soon 


220 


HUBBUB. 


reached, and entering it, she asked the bald-headed man 
who came forward, for one ticket in the Kentucky Lot- 
tery. A number of tickets were placed before her, and 
quickly selecting one without looking at the number, she 
departed. The glaring figures “ 79,863 ” met her eye, as 
she vouchsafed a look at her treasure before placing it 
securely in her pocket-book. 

The few days preceding the publishing of the list of 
prizes drawn passed away, and on the morning when 
this list was to appear, Edith lost no time in securing a 
paper, and seating herself on Mrs. Worthy’s front door- 
steps, she proceeded to read unmolested the long list 
before her ; at length her eye falls on the list beginning 
with sevens, and several numbers are read when, can 
she believe her senses ! here is the very one she bought, 
79,863 has drawn the sum of $1,000. Edith had to 
pinch herself to be sure that this person sitting on the 
door-steps, with eyes fixed unwinkingly on that number, 
is herself. She could not keep her good fortune a 
secret very long, and bounding up Mrs. Worthy’s stairs, 
two at a time, she launched into the subject with such 
vehemence, that good Mrs. Worthy, not clearly under- 
standing the situation for a moment, thought Edith must 
be crazy. But when the truth fully dawned upon her, 
she rejoiced almost as enthusiastically as Edith. As 
soon as the money was really in her possession, she 
decided to go to the West Indies, and spend the coming 
winter. It was now August, and she did not dare to 
risk the climate of the tropics until November ; so the 


HUBBUB. 


221 


remaining portion of this time was spent with different 
friends. 

Edith, relieved from the pressing anxieties which had 
so long threatened her destruction, was almost like the 
Edith of long ago. She sung once more with that same 
joyous ring her voice was wont to have, before such dark 
trouble settled over her life ; in fact, she seemed so full 
of joy and gladness, that from the overflowing fountains 
of her existence, she sent streams of blessedness in all 
directions. There was not one little unloved, uncared- 
for child, who came within her reach, but went away 
gladdened by some kind word or gentle action. The 
friends, who had loved her through all the dark trials of 
her life, could hardly believe she could hold a dearer 
spot in their hearts ; but so it was ; they had loved then 
all there was to love, as loving hearts always do ; but this 
little ray of sunshine falling into Edith Lyton’s life, was 
bringing into action some of the richest, sweetest ele- 
ments of her nature. It has been said, and truthfully, 
too, that no plant can perfectly develop without God’s 
beautiful sunshine ; so with Edith’s life ! Since she 
had wept with uncontrollable anguish over all that re- 
mained of her mother, she had groped through much of 
her life in the dark, with only the memory of her 
mother’s love to light her weary pathway. One thou- 
sand dollars was a small sum of money, but it was 
enough for her present necessities and aflbrded her the 
opportunity to visit those who were near and dear, 
through the strongest ties of marriage and blood. 

At length cold, dreary November arrived, and the day 


222 


HUBBUB. 


for Edith’s departure also. Mrs. Worthy and her brother 
Henry, together with many other friends of Edith’s, 
went down the harbor with her, returning on a tug. 
Her friends never seemed half so dear to her before, and 
many wet eyes were in the little band when the last 
good-bys were spoken, and Edith stood waving her hand- 
kerchief as they rapidly disappeared from her. 

One week on the broad blue sea, tossing and rocking 
in its gigantic arms. One week of sadness and joy, — 
regret for the dear ones left behind, — joy at the thought 
of being united for the first time in her life with her 
dear brother and his loving mother. The cry of land is 
always an exciting one to the sailors and passengers. 
This welcome sound was heard by Edith before she had 
arisen in the morning. Quick as the words “ Land 
ahead ! ” reached her ears, she sprang from her berth, 
and, rapidly dressing, went on deck, where for hours she 
watched the little green patches of land which they 
passed on "their way to the Island for whieh they were 
bound. 

At last the peaceful waters of the harbor are reached, 
and the tall mountains once more throw green shadows 
on the water below, as they used to do when Edith’s 
childish eyes dwelt admiringly upon them. The air is 
heavy with the perfume of orange groves, and all the 
varied productions of this rich, tropical clime. 

How well Edith remembers this same intoxicating 
air, making you feel languid to the very tips of your fin- 
gers. They are nearing the city now, and its tall spires 
glisten as the rays of sunshine fall across them, and 


HUBBUB. 


223 


looming up in the same lofty places stand Bluebeard’s 
and Blackboard’s castle, superior to the warring elements 
which have devastated the land o’er which the ancient 
fortresses look. And then, rising in front of her, in the 
far distance, is the governor’s house, and with loudly- 
beating heart, and quick, short breathing, she is looking 
for a glance of her old home. Yes ! there it stands, as 
it stood years ago, overlooking, as it did then, the entire 
harbor. 

Other children play in its dear old rooms and gather 
flowers from the well-remembered grounds. Edith is a 
world-worn woman now, and Harry, the playmate of her 
childhood years, has been a long time in that country 
where the flowers never wither and the inhabitants are 
never sick ; and, above all, dearer and sweeter than any 
memory of her life, shines out the saintly face of her 
mother. 

“ Oh, mother ! mother ! ” was the wild cry of her heart, 
as her eyes once more fell on the sacred spot where 
that dear life expired. No, not expired ; for she still 
lives ; and from the blessedness of heaven’s perfect rest 
and happiness, she still bends, with a more than mother’s 
love, o’er the precious child she left in this dark world, 
so long ago. 

Edith’s rapt reflections were interrupted, as a small 
boat neared the side of the steamer, and after the usual 
salutation she heard a voice from the boat say, Have 
you a lady passenger on board by the name of Lyton } ” 

Edith did not hear the answer, for hot blood flowed 
like streams of lava to her brain, and then receding, 


224 


HUBBUB. 


left her cold as ice. In another moment a pair of strong 
arms were around her, and a gentle, almost boyish voice 
was saying, “ You are very welcome to our hearts and 
home, my sister.” 

Soon after this the steamer came to anchor, and 
Edith, escorted by Eugene, was conveyed in a small 
boat to the shore. A short walk brought them to the 
cottage, where Eugene’s mother was awaiting their 
coming with strange emotion. 

The cottage, was a little gem of a house ; the thickly 
clustering vines, which climbed to the eaves, made it 
look like a picture, and standing in the door with this 
framework of leaves and flowers, was Edith’s step- 
mother. She was a tall, graceful lady, with languid 
black eyes, and threads of silver thickly mingled in her 
once jetty hair. In an instant Edith was in her arms, 
and no own mother could have embraced her long-lost 
darling child more tenderly than Mrs. Lyton. “God 
bless you, darling,” she said. “ I love you for your 
father’s sake, and more because you look at me with a 
pair of eyes his very own in color and expression,” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

AFTER. 


The time passed pleasantly to Edith for the next few 
weeks. Her mother was a lovely woman, and untiring 


HUBBUB, 


225 


in her efforts to make Edith happy. Mrs. Lyton had 
always longed for a daughter, and this gentle girl, with 
her sweet ways, seemed to fill a place in her heart which 
had hitherto been empty, and Eugene seemed perfectly 
happy in this new experience. Together they climbed 
to the lofty spot, where Bluebeard’s castle stood, and 
with slow and careful footsteps mounted its crumbling 
stairs, so that from its summit they could view the 
ocean and surrounding country ; and Edith picked some 
tiny flowers, which grew near its ancient walls, that she 
might press them and send to distant friends. 

One day, soon after Edith’s arrival, she took a walk 
unaccompanied by Eugene, directing her footsteps up 
the hill on which her old home stood. The well-remem- 
bered house was soon reached, and, seized by an irresis- 
tible influence, she ascended the broad stone stairs and 
rung the bell. 

A little girl answered the summons, and, opening the 
big door a crack, looked shyly out through a mass of 
tangled ringlets. 

Is your mamma at home } ” said Edith ; but, with- 
out answering the question, the child bounded in pur- 
suit of her mother. In another moment she appeared 
with her mother by her side. 

I trust you will excuse me, madam, for this intru- 
sion,” said Edith ; 'Svhen I tell you this house was once 
my home. My mother died here, and I feel such a 
strong desire to stand once more in the same room 
where she breathed her last.” 

The lady replied in a gentle voice, “ It is no intrusion ; 


226 


HUBBUB. 


come right in, and go all over the house if you wish, 
just as if it were your own.” 

Edith thanked her, and stepped once again upon the 
old stone balcony, which had been the delight of her 
childish days ; again she leaned over its massive wall, 
and looked down into the yard. The old orange-tree 
was gone, and a little one, not half as large, grew in its 
place. The fountain still sent forth refreshing streams 
of water, but it no longer flowed from the mouth of the 
marble deer, as it used to do when Edith last beheld 
it; two little marble figures, representing a boy and 
girl standing under an umbrella, had replaced the dying 
stag. The oleander hedge is overgrown, and hides 
completely the dusty street. The grand old harbor 
looks almost the same as when Edith last gazed upon it 
from this very spot. Again she stood in the parlor, and 
recognized the old chandelier, with its brilliant pen- 
dants, as the only familiar object. Reverently crossing 
the threshold, she stood again within the room where 
she had taken the last look of the coffined form of her 
mother. Again the awful hush of death seemed to be 
in the room, and in her imagination she seemed to see 
that sweet face she had worshipped so in life, sleeping 
peacefully in its death slumber ; she seemed to hear the 
agonized cry of the motherless girl, who had clung so 
^ pitifully to that still form, begging for just one word, 
one single caress. In a few short moments she had 
lived over her childhood, and could hardly realize that 
the child of whom she dreamed was identical with her- 


HUBBUB, 


227 


self. Thanking the lady kindly for allowing her to 
enter once more a spot so sacred to her, she departed. 

Eugene accompanied her to the cemetery, where their 
father and mother were buried. Edith proposed carry- 
ing the loveliest flowers they could procure, and they 
literally covered those two graves with a profusion of 
these fragrant tributes of affection. Long Edith lin- 
gered in a spot which she so oftened had longed to 
visit; a simple shaft of marble marked her mother’s 
resting-place, and under the name and age were these 
few lines, — 

“ Weep not for her, there is no cause for woe 
But rather nerve the spirit, that it walk 
Unshrinking o’er the thorny paths below, 

And from earth’s low defilements keep thee back; 

So when a few fleet, severing years have flown. 

She’ll meet thee at Heaven’s gate and lead thee on.” 

These beautiful words seemed to fill Edith’s heart 
with peace, and she smiled sweetly as she clipped the 
tall grass from the mound with the large shears she^had 
brought for that purpose, and as she worked she softly 
repeated, 

“ So when a few short severing years have flown. 

She’ll meet thee at Heaven’s gate and lead thee on.” 

Do you like those words, Edith ? ” said Eugene. 

Very much,” Edith replied. 

** My mamma selected them when papa bought the 
stone/' 


228 


HUBBUB, 


she had known my mother well she could not 
have found anything more appropriate,” said Edith. 

Mamma says that papa made that same remark at 
the time she gave them to him.” 

Captain Ly ton’s grave was marked by a broken 
column, and the simple words, Rest in peace,” were 
carved under the name. The two graves looked very 
beautiful as Eugene and Edith gave them one last 
glance. Edith’s artistic fingers had blended colors so 
harmoniously, that these lonely graves seemed to 
rejoice in their own loveliness. 

One day, as Edith and Mrs. Lyton were quietly 
spending an afternoon together, Eugene suddenly 
entered the room, saying, as he did so, Here is a letter 
of importance for Edith ; it says, ‘ Please forward,’ on 
the envelope. So I ran right up to the house with it 
as soon as received.” Edith took the letter, and 
quickly opened it. It was from Mrs. Worthy, and 
read, — 

Dear Edith, — What was my surprise this morning, 
when running my eye through the personals, of the 
“ Herald,” to discover your name. I enclose the identi- 
cal slip of paper which I, at once, cut out. I then went 
as quickly as possible to my brother Henry and asked 
him, to go and see the parties, who advertise for you, as 
the address was Berkelay street. I waited with almost 
uncontrollable anxiety until Henry’s welcome face ap- 
peared ; he entered the room and threw his hat up to 
the ceiling, saying, as he did so, “Three cheers for 


HUBBUB, 


229 


Edith Lyton ; she is an heiress.” I will not stop to tell 
you all we did or said but will hurry on to facts. It seems 
that Philip Burton had an aunt, Jane Hunt by name, — 
perhaps you have heard of her, — she was a very eccen- 
tric old woman and very rich withal. At the time Philip 
Burton died, she saw you for the first and only time. It 
seems she must have been favorably impressed with you, 
for when she died, some few weeks since, it was found 
that in her last will she had left, with the exception of a 
few legacies to distant relatives, her whole large for- 
tune to you. Her estate is reported worth five hundred 
thousand dollars ; so you see^it is necessary for you to 
return to us at once, and we are not sorry! Just think 
of it Edith 1 here are all your day-dreams realized. God 
bless you and help you to make a wise use of the rich 
gift he has bestowed upon you. Hoping to see you very 
soon, I am as ever, 

Your friend, 

J. A. Worthy. 

It would be impossible to describe the scene which 
followed, — the hasty questions and the hurried conver- 
sation. Finally Edith said, I must have opportunity to 
think for a little time. I am going out for a walk, and will 
soon return my own identical self again. Seeking a lonely 
path, she followed its windings until it brought her to 
the cemetery. Quickly entering its massive walls, she 
sought her mother’s grave, and kneeling beside the 
grassy mound, she lifted her heart in prayer, and thank- 
ing God for all his blessings, she thanked Him, from the 


230 


HUBBUB. 


depths of her full heart, for all the trials of her life, for 
its bitterest disappointments ; and called her mother’s 
spirit to witness that, out of the bitter experiences 
through which she had passed, had come her power to 
shed blessedness on the great suffering world of human- 
ity. She prayed most earnestly that God would keep 
her from all selfishness, and help her to feel continually 
her dependence upon Him for guidance in the right use 
of the money He had sent her. Arising from her knees 
she felt calm and peaceful, and as she leaned against her 
mother’s grave-stone, trying to impress upon her 
memory each little sprout ^nd twig, it seemed as if her 
mother’s spirit came very near to her, and touched, with 
angel fingers, her feverish brow. The influence was a 
soothing one and it did not leave her as she retraced her 
footsteps. 

The first steamer sailed during the next week and 
Eugene and his mother almost regretted the good for- 
tune which compelled Edith to leave them. 

“ You and Eugene shall never want for anything now 
which money can procure, mamma,” said Edith, as she 
parted from her step-mother’s warm embrace ; “ and if 
I live, I shall come and see you again.” 

Eugene bade her an affectionate good-by, and his 
'^oice trembled as he said, “ I shall be very lonely with- 
out my little sister.” 

Edith comforted him as best she could and was re- 
warded by seeing an almost cheerful expression on his 
boyish face, as he sprung into the little boat which was 
to take him ashore. 


HUBBUB, 


231 


When Edith reached New York, she found a large 
amount of business awaiting her. She was the wealthy 
Miss Lyton now, and she laughingly compared the bow- 
ing attentions of her lawyer, with the pompous manner 
of the man who secured her divorce so long ago. * In all 
the walks of life this difference was painfully apparent, 
and she turned away in disgust from the greedy multi- 
tude who courted her wealth, to the few tried and true 
friends who had stood by her through the darkest hours 
of her life. 

Mrs. Worthy,” said Edith, “ you shall never do an- 
other day’s work.” 

“Well,” said Mrs. Worthy, “ if I am not to work what 
are you to do with me?” 

“You are to have a good time all the rest of your 
days, and help me spend my money wisely. You have 
always wanted a cozy little home,” Edith continued, 
“ with beautiful green grass and a place for flowers, now 
you shall have it, and a horse to drive ; and O, I shall 
not tell you all because, I want to surprise you.” 

Mrs. Worthy laughed with the tears in her eyes, as 
she said, “ Edith you are thinking of every one else. I 
should like to know what Edith Lyton is to have } ” 

‘‘Why, Mrs. Worthy, I am to be the happiest little 
mortal in the world ; do you not know that it is more 
blessed to give than to receive } ” 

Edith’s old friend Belle Granger, the companion of 
her life in the chocolate-room, had been through severe 
trials since Edith had separated from her, three years 
ago. In Philadelphia, as elsewhere, wages had been 


232 


HUBBUB. 


reduced to such an extent that only those who were 
fortunate enough to have home and friends could hope 
to live on the mere pittance paid. Poor Belle was earn- 
ing only three dollars and sixty cents a week, and out of 
this small pittance food, shelter, and clothes for two was 
to come. When Edith had drawn the thousand dollars 
in the lottery she had sent Belle one hundred dollars 
from her little pile ; this gift had long kept the wolf from 
their door. Belle’s mother had been very sick, and much 
of this little hoard had been spent for medicine, and on the 
day Edith Lyton entered their humble dwelling gaunt 
want again stared them in the face. Belle had not 
heard of Edith’s good fortune and supposed her to be in 
the West Indies at this time, and it was with a scream of 
wild delight that Belle threw her arms around Edith’s 
neck, kissing her again and again. Mrs. Granger’s joy 
expressed itself in a flood of tears. 

You have had a sad, hard life Mrs. Granger, and 
Belle, you have borne adversity with much fortitude ; if 
some really bright, beautiful thing should dawn upon 
your life, could you bear it } ” 

“ What do you mean Edith, you have always brought 
us what little brightness we have had for years, have 
you something good to tell us to-day } ” 

“Yes, dear old Belle, I have; you are never to go 
back into the dark cellar where you have passed the last 
three years of your life ; but I am to buy you a sweet 
little home, just where you most desire ; you shall 
furnish it yourself, and I will pay the bills, and you are 
to have a sufficient income for all your wants ; your dear 


HUBBUB. 


233 


mother and you shall yet be as happy as you have been 
wretched.” 

‘‘I cannot understand you, Edith; are you building 
castles as you used to do in the old chocolate-room } ” 
said Belle. 

“ I don’t wonder you ask, Belle, for I forgot to tell you 
about my good fortune. I am rich. Belle ; the sole 
heiress of an old lady whom I never met but once in my 
life ; so I take this money as a gift from God direct, and 
with His divine help shall try to use it for His suffering 
children.” 

“ Then it is really true, I am to have a home } God 
bless you, darling Edith. I don’t believe you have made 
one plan for yourself ; that was always the way, — every 
one else first, and Edith Lyton last ; but I am so happy ! 
Mother, do you understand all that Edith is to do for 
you and I } ” and Belle proceeded to explain their good 
fortune. 

“ I have made some plans for myself. Belle. I am to 
travel all the time for the next two or three years and 
shall hope to have you for a companion during many a 
short trip. And thus these two friends talked of the 
future. 

Edith decided to educate, as far as she could, a cer- 
tain number of orphan girls, who had been left without 
their natural protectors at the same age as herself. She 
began with five, and after a few years she was so pleased 
with the project, that she increased the number to ten. 
As soon as the education of one or more was completed, 
the vacancy was filled by others ; and many a girl who 


234 


HUBBUB 


was thus fitted for a useful life, blessed Edith Lyton, 
who had lifted her from the degradation of ignorance, 
and given her what was far better than money. Not 
only in this way, but in many other useful streams, did 
her goodness and wisdom bless those who came within 
its reach. 

A few years after Edith's visit to her mother and 
step-brother, Mrs. Lyton died, and Eugene, at Edith’s 
earnest request, left the land of his birth for a home in 
his father’s country. He is now a flourishing merchant 
in New York city. He does not marry, 'for he says he 
is waiting to find another woman like his sister Edith, 
only a few years younger, and until he does he shall re- 
main an old bachelor. Henry Lyton is a much-loved 
priest in the church of his choice, and like his sister 
Edith, the poor and lowly bless him wherever ha goes ; 
he is conscious of one grief in his heart and this is the 
fact that his beloved sister is at variance with him in 
religious belief, and many a prayer does he offer that she 
may yet be converted to the true church. 

Mrs. Worthy and Edith spend hours together, almost 
every day, planning for some noble work, or helping 
each other in its execution. 

Here we must leave Edith Lyton, after following 
closely in her footsteps from childhood on to middle 
age. God speed thee Edith on thy mission, and from 
the bitter experiences of thy life, from the ashes of its 
disappointments and crushed hopes, may there spring 
forth and blossom fadeless flowers, shedding fragrance 
on all earth’s sorrowing ones ! 


THfl authors' publishing company’s descriptive list. 


/ 


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COMPRISING 

Story, Romance, Travel, Adventure, Humor, Pleasure. 

BY POPULAR AMERICAN AUTHORS. 

Printed from bold, clear type, on good paper, with brig-lit, cbeerfol 
pages, and neatly boimd in paper covers. 

WELL RECEIVED! SELL WELL EVERYWHERE ! A GREAT HIT! 


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Or, A Trip Out OF Season. By the 
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A story of fact and fancy. By 
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42 THE AUTHOKS’ PUBLISHING COMPANY’S DESCRIPTIVE LIST. 


Nobody’s Business. 

By the author of “ Dead Men’s 
Shoes,” “Heavy Yokes,” “Against 
the World,” etc. 128pp. . . .30 cts. 

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— Boston Home Journal. 

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A pleasant companion Avhile traveling 
or in the drawing-room at home. — Odd 
Fellows' Begiste'>", Providence ^ 


Our Winter Eden. 

Pen Pictures of the Tropics, 
Avith an Appendix of the SeAvard- 
Samana Mystery, By Mrs. Genl. 
Wm. Leslie Casneau, author of 
“Hill Homes of Jamaica,” 
^‘Prince Kashna,” etc., Avho Avas 
'lost on the Emily B. Souder, De- 
cember, 1878, en route to her 
beautiful “Winter Eden” Avhich 
she so charmingly describes in 
this Avork. 112 pp 30 cts. 

Bright, readable, and has value beside. 
—N. T. MaU. 

A bright and vivid description. It is 
written with a jaunty pen.— ifaif. Gazette. 

A pleasantly Avritten book of travel and 
life in the West Indies. — Buffalo Courier. 

Depicts life in that climate in all its 
beauty and attractiveness. Bedford 
Standard. 

An interesting book, giving pen pictures 
of the Tropics in a charming manner. — 
Boston Home Journal. 

A pleasant description of the peninsula 
of Samana Avhich our goverment came so 
near purchasing.— Roston Transa ipt. 

Describes the pleasure of life in the 
West Indies in gloAving terms.— 6’m. Gaz. 

Relates to the Island of Samana, and as 
the author has lived there for some time, 
she is perfectly familiar with it, and gives 
many details of interest. It is well writ- 
ten.— Ronton Globe. 

By the wife of theU. S Plenipotentiary 
to the Dominican Republic during the 
Pierce admini> Iration. Makes public for 
*Jie first time the real cause of the failure 
of Secretary Seward’s Samana scheme.— 
Whig, Quincy, Rl. 

A Story of tlie Strike. 

Scenes in City Life. By Eliz- 
abeth Mueray. 125 pp . . 30 cts. 

Vivacious tale. — N. Y. Mail. 

Sound sense — will subserve a good pur- 
pose.— Ra/i A’mn. Chron. 

A pleasant story, inculcating economy, 
thrift, home-virtue, and honest industry 
as the basis of Avell-being and happiness. 
Sunday-School Times, Phila. 

This is one of the few books called out 
by the great railroad strike. The style is 
crisp and taking, and the book healthy 
and captivating. — Temperance Union. 

Is a faithful delineation of city life, 
among the high and Ioav. Without being 
sensational or trashy it is lively and inter- 
esting.— Town and Covntiy. 

A most timely book — a series of pen- 
pictures in Avhich the philosoph}’^ of strikes 
and poverty and riches is illustrated. It 
tells the story completely, and with an 
aptness no political economist can excel, 
Avhilc it is perfectly level to the compre- 
hension of any reader. Should be in every 
f family and read by every man, woman 
1 and child of to-day. — Meth. Protestant, 


THE author’s publishing COMPANY’S DESCRIPTIVE LIST, 43 


Pri§ons Witlioiit Walls. 

A Novel. By Kelsic Etheridge. 
Paper. 97pp 25 cts. 

The heroine, Egypt, is a glorious being. 
— iV. Y. South. 

Has the curiosity-exciting tendency. — 
Boston Beacon. 

The characters are finely ^vrought up.— 
WiUiamsport (Pa.) Register. 

The interest grows and retains attention 
to the end —N. 0. Picayune. 

Is written in easy stjde and is sensa- 
tional enough to sustain its interest to the 
end . — Providence (R. I.) Town and Coun- 
try. 

Short, sententious, marroivy, and spiced 
with episodes. Has a warm Southern 
aroma of orange and magnolia blossoms. 
— Baltimore Meth. Protestant. 

Of rai'e beauty and power in its vivid, 
life-like picturing of men and places. 
Through such artistic touches of skill and 
strength we are wafted in thought as we 
follow the hero and heroine through the 
mazes of the old, old story. — Ladies' 
Pearl, St. Louis. 

Strange, weird story. The style is pe- 
culiar, and has a wonderful fascination 
about it. We feel, while reading it, that 
the strongest bars which hold us prisoners 
are those which fate casts about us, whose 
iron grasp we cannot unloose ; that the 
walls built highest about us are those 
which neither our will, nor our despair, 
nor our unutterable agon}’’, can batter 
do^vn . — Kansas City Times. 


Traveller’s Orab-Sag. 

A Hand-Book for utilizing Frag- 
ments of Leisure in Railroad 

Trains, Steamboats, Way Stations 

and Easy Chairs. Edited by an 
Old Traveller. 110 pp..25 cts. 

Full of spice and fun . — Baltimore Meth. 
Protestant. 

No traveler should be Avithout it.— W. Y. 
Forest and Stream. 

Teeming with rollicking humor, and a 
Kind of satire that will be enjoyable.— 
Pittsburg Commercial. 

There are many good stories in this 
book ; some exciting and interesting, 
w’hile none are by any means dull.— 
Spangled Banner. 

It has three separate elements as unlike 
as vinegar, aloes and honey. It is an odd 
book, the design original, and is a grab- 
bag literally in Avhich to plunge the mind 
by^a glance of the oyc.— Kansas City 

Is a iiandy little volume of short, inter- 
esting original stories. Many a Aveary 
moment may be beguiled aAvay by the fa- 
tigued traveler, provided he takes the 
“ Grab-Bag” Adth him.— Epitome ctf Lit- 
erasure. 


Bonny Eagle. 

A Vacation Sketch — the humor of 
roughing it. 121pp 25 cts. 

Exceedingly entertaining. — Brooklyn 
Times. 

Rich, racy and entertaining. — Quincy 
(111.) Whig. 

Some of the experiences are exceeding- 
ly ludicrous.— of Literature. 

The style is fresh and graphic, and the 
humor and satire are keen and pure. — 
Boston Home .Journal. 

Funny ; conceiA'ed and executed in great 
good humor. Bright and entertaining.— 
Chicago Sat. Eve Herald. 

Will be read Avith interest and amuse- 
ment, and many a tear (of laughter) Avill 
be shed over its all too feAv pages. — San 
Francisco Post. 

Curious and ludicrous experiences graph- 
ically told Avith a naive humor and deli- 
cate satire. It is a fresh and spicy book. 
— St. luouis Herald. 

Very spicy, humorous, satirical. Par- 
ticularly interesting. Delightful hours 
amid forest scenes of beauty and retire- 
ment. — Hebrew Isader, K . Y. 

The relation of the haps and mishaps, 
mild experiences of ” roughing it ” under 
canvas, their fraternal intercourse Avith 
the Dryad «« and Hamadryads of the grove, 
and the varied incidents, is given in grace- 
ful language. A friendly expedition has 
rarely been chronicled m better style.— 
The South, New Yo'rk. 


Voice of a Shell. 

By 0. C. Auringer, 180pp. 40 cts. 

A fine coWeetion.— Pittsburg Leader. 

Well wriitan.— Schoharie Republican. 

Contains many fine lines.— Ra'f. Gaz. 

There is no lack of fire and passion.— 
Literary World. 

It is delicate, beautiful and grand.— 
Sandy Hill Herald. 

Most of them Avritten while at sea.— 
Glen's Falls Messenger. 

There is much in the book that is really 
hoQ.— Glen's Falls Republican. 

Much poetic feeling, and an absorbing 
love of the sea — Herald, Chicago. 

Full of peculiar interest, grandeur and 
tenderness . — Boston Home Journal. 

Poetic merit. Most of them are short, 
and present a pleasant variety . — Troy 
Whig. 

A book of poems, having — as their col- 
lective title implies — a salt-Avater flavor. — 
Syracuse IL rald. 

Exceedingly jfieasing, in their SAA’-eet 
delicacy of thought. Poetic and home 
like.-W. Y. Mail. 

A touch of real poetic feeling and origi- 
nality. The author’s feeling for the sea 
is evidently an intense one . — Amencan 
BookseHer. 

To all lovers of the sea, and to all Avho 
linger by its sounding shores, nothing can 
be more entrancing than tlie pages of this 
beautiful little volume . — Altoona TrVbniM. 


44 THE author’s publishing 


Who Did It ? 

By Mark Fkazier. 137pp. 30 cts. 

An excellent theme.— iV. Y. Post, 

Deeply interesting.— Me., 
Chronicle. 

In these times when grave-robbing is 
very common it is quite to the point.— 
Whig, Quincy, 111. 

A story with a suspected crime for the 
basis of Its mysterious plot — well told and 
absorbing.— Cin . Gazette. 

A sensational story in which a case of 
catalepsy so closely resembles death that 
the girl is declared dead.— Bedford, 
Mass., Standard. 

Is a thrilling story, and he who com- 
mences reading it will nev^r stop until 
bis eyes have glanced over its last page — 
Clyde, N. Y., Times. 

Is a deeply interesting story of a beauti- 
ful girl. Around the terrible incident of 
being buried alive is woven a romantic 
%ioxy.— Boston Home Jownal. 

Portrays the dangers of premature bu- 
rial. Serves a good purpose in directing 
attention to the necessity of absolute cer- 
tainity as to death before interment is al- 
lowed to take place. — Boston Travellei'. 

It would be difficult to find a more ex- 
citable and thoroughly readable story. 
The histor}" of the narrative claims an or- 
igin in south-eastern New Hampshire, 
but the scene is thrilling enough to have 
been laid in a far more eventful country. 
It is just the book for an hour’s reading 
on a winter’s night. — Mirror and Amr'n., 
Manchester, N. H, 

Earnest Appeal to Moody. 

A Satire. 34 pp 10 cts. 

A clever poem— the hits well taken and 
to the pcint, and will be appreciated by 
many as the names are outlined suffi- 
ciently as to be readily recognized.— 
ome of Literature. 

The references to Kingsley, McLoughKn, 
Kinsella and the other crooked “ K’s,” 
Bob Furey, Bill Fowler and the rest will 
prove quite amusing, especially as it rep- 
resents them as amenable to reform and 
to be conscience-stricken by Mr. Moody’s 
■pxQdLciLmg.— Brooklyn Times. 

Only a Tramp, 

By the author of " Alone,” 

“ Eone,” “ Through the Dark,” 

etc. 212pp 50 cts. 

An exceedingly picturesque story, 
with a sirong and strangely fascin- 
ating character, in the person of the 
adopted daughter, or kidnapped 
protege, of a Tramp, for its heroine. 
The lives of royal queens rarely fur- 
nished such heroic and beautiful 
material for romance as the author 
has h.ere cunningly and ably drawn 
from the life of this poor little girl- 
tramp. 


COilPANy’s PESCEIPTIVE LIST. 

Bera ; 

Or, tee C. and M. C. Railroad. 


By Stuart De Leon. A novel 
169pp 40 cts. 


Well learned in his books, and 
fresh from the schools of many 
languages, was young Greek Lylo 
wheR fate turned his thoughts to 
love, and chance directed his steps 
to the Railroad shops of a far-away 
village in the Northwest. And here 
— with fantastic blending of the 
quaint, strange characters who open 
the streets of frontier towns — the 
principal action of this well-told 
story transpires. Its vivid and 
swiftly-moving scenes are bright 
and refreshing, like sunlight down 
the road over which the record 
runs. 

Poor Tlieopliilus ; 

And the City of Fin. By a 

Well-Known Contributor to 


“ Puck.” 99pp 25 cts. 

Cloth extra 60 cts. 


A love story, tenderly touching, 
with much fact and little fancy; 
together with an oddly amusing and 
quaint conceit pertaining to the 
wonders of the sea, which is only the 
more interesting for the little fact 
and much fancy which it contains. 

How It Eesded. 

By Marie Flaacke. 103pp. 25cts. 

A story, with a glow of southern 
climes and the perfume of orange 
groves about it. A real gem of a 
little book, in the inspiriting influ- 
ence which pervades the glowing 
landscapes and shady nooks of its 
well-framed pen-piclures ; strong in 
its delicacy, love, and tenderness. 

Olenmere, 

A Story of Love versus Wealth. 

112pp 25 cts. 

With well defined action, excel- 
lent characterization and thorough- 
ly sustained interest, this compact 
story is attractive in both plot and 
purpose ; and it is withal, forceful 
Avith the healthful tone of the great 
Northwestern country and people, 
whence its scenes and animation are 
drawn. 


4o 


THE authors’ publishing company’s descriptive list. 


\ 

Spiders and Rice Pudding. 

By Sarah G. Barbour. 88pp. 25c. 

Sprightly and interesting, and mixes love 
and house-keeping in the oddest manner. — 
Buffalo Express. 

One cannot help but be carried along 
with the rapid thinking of its characters — 
a good book lor the evening hours. — Har- 
risburg Independent. 

A quaint and pretty love story, that 
pleasingly oscillates between humor and 
pathos. The simplicity and naturalness 
of the narrative make the book interesting. 
— Boston Gazette. 

Good for a journey. There are few spi- 
ders and lots of love-making. If the title 
had the small pox the characters of the 
book would never have taken it. — Chicago 
Inter-Ocean. 

\ 

Persis. 

A Tale of the White Mountains. 
By Kambler. 129 pp 25c. 

It is a delightful ctory founded upon the 
experience of the author among the White 
, fountains. — Mczs. V/’ecldy Gazette. 

This tale, or wo might almost say prose 
idyl, is from tho pen of Goo. II. Fullerton. 
The delineation of the characters is re- 
markably distinct.-Brocto/i, Mass., Advance. 

A very pretty story. It opens with a 
description of a myoterious woman who 
dwelt up among the New Hampshire hills 
with her only child, a beautiful little girl 
who is the heroine of the story. — Boston 
Hone Journal. 

Relating the adventures of a young girl. 
“ Percis ” is an interesting end lively story, 
illustrating the power of music on the life 
of a high born maiden v/h<^ has been thrown 
into the seclucion of wild nature among 
the White Mountains, by a mistake of her 
father. — Brocton Daily Enterprise. 

One of the best stories of tho season — al- 
most dramatic, characters and incidents 
clearly depicted. — Cottage City Star, Mass. 

One Little Indian. 

By Koy Maitland. 134 pp., 25c. 

So well received by the readers of the 
Christian at Work, in which it originally 
appeared as a serial, that it has been re- 
published in the Satchel Series. It is a 
pleasantly-written story, and, indirectly, 
gives a good deal of interesting informa- 
tion about Indian life on the reservations, 
and about the methods adopted for reduc- 
ing red men to a civilized state. — Phila. 
Times. 


j Ninety-iN'ine .Days. 

By Clara R. Bush. A Love 
Story. 162 pp 35c. 

A lively American story, easy and natu- 
ral. — Phila. News 

Restful and enjoyable, and properly 
placed in the *■ Satchel Series” — good to 
take in chapters or hourly sections as the 
reader desires. —Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

Contains nothing sensational or forced. 
Handles summer boarding-house life with 
a skill that keeps the reader’s interest from 
beginning to end. Altogether the story is 
very graceful and entertaining ; pure in 
tone and free from anything like morbid 
feeling.— C/ucagro Herald. 

Vic. 

A Novel. By A. Benrimo, au- 
thor of “The Watertown Mys- 
tery,” etc. 150 pp 30c. 

Humorous and exciting. — N. T. Era. 
Humorous and dramatic. — N. Y. Star. 
Readable and amusing. — Am. Bookseller. 
Is fascinating throughout.— 
Independent. 

A well told story, abounding in humor. 
— Noah’s Sunday Times. 

Is having a very large sale, and it de- 
serves it. — Hebrew Leader. 

Very felicitous — his language is chaste 
and clear.— J’em'sA Advance, Chicago. 

Animated style, graphic pen pictures, 
plenty of amusement, and entertaining 
scenes. — London Era. 

Humorous, exciting ; bright, well told, 
with a strong plot. Will find a welcome 
place in every library. — San Francisco He- 
brew Observer. 

Many of the scenes are in reality jolly. 
The vein of pleasantry that runs through 
the book is very enjoyable.— C'aniftn’d^'e, 
Mass., Tribune. 

Dramatic and humorous. — N. Y. Express' 

Old Nick’s Campnieetiu’. 

A narration of occurrences there- 
at in which M. Satan did not 
take a hand but other people did 
—several in fact. By Eugene 
Owl. 224pp 50 cts. 

Rich, racy, mirth-creating, — Prov. Press. 
Brilliantly humorous. — Columbus, 0., 
Herald. 

Texas campmeeting, frontier life. — New 
York Graphic. 

Humorous adventure and incident.— 


Phila. Record. 

Hiiiriorous, fascinating, really brilliant. 
— Phila. Presbyterian Journal. 


Everybody who has read these handy little volumes knows full well 
that the reading is instructive as well as agreeable, bright and thoroughly 
pure in tone — just the books for pleasurable recreation . — Manchester Mir- 
ror and American. 


THE AUTHOKS’ ITTBLISHINQ COMPANY’S DESCRIPTIVE LIST. 




Mrs. SiiigletOH. 

By a well-known society lady 

OP New York. 174pp . 40 cts. 

A sparkling story. — Toledo Journal. 

Bright and pleasant. — Baltimore Sun. 

Exquisitely beautiful. — Ind. Sentinel. 

Exquisitely interesting. — Albany Press. 

Well managed and interesting. — Boston 
Gazette. 

A bewitching widow and an enamored* 
tutor. — Avir. Bookseller. 

A mild rebuke to foreign judgment of 
American society. — N. J. Bern. Ban. 

Author’s name cannot have been with- 
held because of any fear of the merits of 
the novel. — Boston Home Journal. 

Development of plot and characters tend 
in the right direction. Agreeable types of 
of pleasant characters. — N. Y. Herald. 

Yesterdays ia Paris. 

A Sketch prom real Lipe. By 

\Vm. Bradpord. lO’ipp. . 25 cts. 

Comprises charming sketches of 
life in Paris during the first year 
of the Bepublic under President 
Thiers — immediately following the 
Franco-Pr ussian war — invo 1 ving 
many valuable social, political, 
financial, and other incidental 
matters, hints and comments, 
which are artistically strung upon 
the thread of an exceedingly in- 
teresting storjL This compact 
volume cannot fail to charm while 
yielding important information 
touching many things which the 
formal historian usually overlooks. 

How Bob and I Kept 

House. A story op Chicago 

Hard Times. By Bessie Al- 
bert. 65pp 15 cts. 

Extract from Chapter VII. : 

My diamonds and jewels were 
large in size, fine in quality, and 
shone with conspicuous brightness. 
My toilettes were numerous, styl- 
ish, expensive; my maid under- 
stood the art of hair-dressing to 
perfection, which added no little 
to the general effect. 

Bob’s tailor had studied to dis- 
play his nobby garments to great 
advantage on Bob’s handsome 
figure. Taking both together we 
presented a very decided, distin- 
guished and attractive appearance, 
and made as fine a show as any 
one on exhibition. 


Maple Hall Mystery. 

A Bomance. By Enrique Par- 
mer. 109pp 25 cts. 

However romantic this strange 
story may appear, much of it is 
founded on fact and is still fresh 
in the recollection of many living 
witnesses in Maryland, St. Louis 
and New Orleans. 

The author’s reputation for purity of 
style and vigor of thought is well sus- 
tained. — St. Louis Spirit. 

Mr. Enrique Parmer is a St. Louis law- 
yer and well-known. The scene of this 
story is laid in the mountains of Maryland, 
thence shifting to St.Louisandsouthward; 
it is brim full of interest and is a master- 
piece of literary elegance. — St. Louis Rep. 

What’s Hie Matter 7 

By Josephine Jackson. 

96pp 20 cts. 

This little volume is in style a 
very bright, gossipy sketch and 
in matter a ringing monograph on 
dress reform, treating tight shoes, 
tight lacing, iron-bound corsets 
and long skirts as hydra-headed 
monsters to be banished from the 
feet and waist and hips of woman- 
hood as everlastingly as St. Patrick 
banished snakes from Ireland. 
The author is thoughtful and 
practical — having experimented in 
all the reforms which she advo- 
cates — and entertaining in every 
paragraph she writes. 

A Virginia Belle. 

By Sem Balph. pp., 25 cts. 

How a “Virginia Belle” does 
the usual watering-place flirtation 
or how she receives the customary 
quantity of fashionable summer- 
time love-making, is an exceed- 
ingly interesting question. Mr. 
Balph knows — and tells us in this 
volume. It is remarkable that no 
books have been written to delin- 
eate social and fasliionable life 
and habits at the renowned Vir- 
ginia Springs, which are in fact, 
and have long been, the real sum- 
mer metropolis of the most elegant 
Southern society. Mr. Balph has 
treated this subject in a very care- 
ful manner, evolving one of the 
very happiest and most delightful 
little stories. 


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